Angels and Demons
by Harriet Vane
Summary: Gabriel takes Sara to his home town for a short vacation, but there is not rest for a true wielder.
1. Respite

Author's Note: I've never published in chapters before, so we'll have to see how this goes. Yes, this is just a sad attempt to get more reviews. 

Dedication: This is for Meghan, who really wanted a good Gabriel story. The working title is "Gabe in a Cage," but I don't think that'll keep. Anyway's I told her I'd put the working title in the dedication to the bestest, most wonderful, most beautiful, and kind roommate anyone has ever had. Did I mention fun, she's fun too.

So, I don't own the characters, TNT does. I do own the plot, however, so don't steel it. Thanx

  
  
  
  


Chapter 1: Respite

"You need a break Sara," the soft, wonderful, familiar voice of Danny said. 

They were on a crowded street, walking at a brisk pace towards the, office, or store front, or warehouse, or whatever it was that Gabriel kept all his talismans and treasures in. She didn't care who saw her talking to herself, or a figment of her imagination, or a ghost. She would never see those people on the street again anyway.

"What are you talking about Danny?"

"It's been a month since he died," The ghost said, with a calm composed of compassion and wisdom. "It's been a month since the periculum. Your heart and mind were marked forever a month ago and you've barely had time to notice it."

"What are you talking about?" Sara snapped. "Every day I notice the difference. I know who I am, I know what I can do."

"Do you?"

She didn't really have an answer to that question, posed so earnestly and so dryly, so she changed the subject. "Most importantly I know why this all happened."

"Really," Danny said, as if this was all news to him. "Why is that?"

"Because the dark forces have reached critical mass," Sara said, with far more conviction than she felt, and still, her uncertainty shone through her voice.

"Can you tell me what that means?" Danny asked.

"The Witchblade tells me what I need to know."

"You're evading the issue," Danny scolded.

"What issue?" Sara asked harshly. "There's not an issue. I'm fine, the Periculum put everything in perspective." 

"You're mind might have perspective, Sara Pezzini, but your heart and soul don't."

"What the hell are you talking about Danny?" she said, not realizing how defensive her voice sounded."

"You've run yourself ragged, trying to do the most, be the most, feel the most, or maybe the least, possible. You need to just breathe, just stop trying so hard and let everything that you are come together."

"I don't understand," she said tersely.

"And that's why you need a break," he answered. "Because then you will."

They reached the greenish-gray steel door on which was proudly written "Talismania.com" and Sara reached to open it. As she walked in, she noticed Danny was no longer following her, at least not that he would let her see.

"Come on in," Gabe called. "I'll be right with you!" She couldn't see him, which meant there was no way in hell he could have seen her. It was awfully trusting off him, Pez thought, to let strangers into his warehouse simply because they opened the door. Granted, no one would know what all this stuff was, or how much it was worth, so theft was not really a concern. But someone might think that that little cup in the middle of the third shelf was pretty and just take it, not realizing that it was the vestle used by the Egyptian high priest Ichni to poison the great Pharaoh Tututcommon. It was kept out of his grave because Ichni believed that, if Tututcommon were to have the cup in the afterlife, his angry spirit would use it to poison Ichni himself. At least that was the story. Everything in this room had a story, some true, some fiction, some that toddled the line between. 

She found her way to the preoccupied Gabriel, who was pacing up and down behind the ancient stone alter he used as a counter, at least until it sold. 

"Yeah, yeah, no problem," Gabe told the phone, and turning to Sara said, "Hey, Pez, you mind if I finish this?"

"Go ahead," Sara shrugged as she turned and started examining the last pick Janis Joplin used before her death which was displayed prominently on the counter and marked "Special of the Month" only $30,000. 

"Did you talk to Chastity? . . . Really? . . . No, iIt's fine, you know me, whatever. . . . But, ah, I did want to ask you something. You think I could bring someone along? . . . Just a friend. . . . Well, it's complicated, I'd rather tell you later. . . . No, it's a very good reason. . . . No, it's a very good reason that doesn't involve grandchildren. . . . Really. . . .Great, great, thanks, that really means a lot. . . . Think Chase'll mind? . . . Come on, people have been calling her that since highschool. . . . Fine, do you think I should ring up _Chastity_ and clear it through her? . . . You sure? . . . Great, Thanks. . . . Nine, right? . . . Thanks Mom, love you." He pulled the cell phone away from his ear, smiled at it for a moment, as if it were his mother's face, before punching the end button and turning to his friend. "What's the story morning glory?"

"Hey," Sara said. "You called, said you had something for me?"

"Ah, yeah," Gabe said, looking around on the alter for something that was easily lost in the pile of papers covering the slightly sacred work place. Finally, he found something that made his milk chocolate colored eyes brighten. He pulled a black, unmarked, floppy disk out of the pile and handed it to her. "I found a doctorate thesis by this girl Roberta Leif at Harvard."

"Oo," Sara said, not trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice. "A doctoral thesis."

Gabe smiled, ever so slightly. "You'll like this one. She did an extensive study of the woman's role in the civil war and, ah, from what she said about this one chick, Martha Saultz, I think we have another wielder." 

Sara nodded, taking the disk from his hand. He was trying so hard, he had read a doctoral thesis for her, she tried to sound grateful. She failed. "Thanks Gabrial, this is . . . just great."

Gabe smiled and shook his head, "Don't worry, you've got the abridged version."

Sara breathed a sigh of relief, "Thanks," she said, this time meaning it. "I'll get to this as soon as I can."

"Great," Gabe said nodding, "It's a, really, um, not worth it."

"Really?" Sara asked, not quite believing her ears.

"Yeah, Saultz was a widow, her husband died in a skirmish with the British like a week after all the fighting started. There are all these rumors that she was seen on the battle fields with a bayonet or sword or something in her hand taking people down. Leif says it's due to the American's feminine role in the war, something about the land being raped and pillaged. Anyway, she says that old Goody Martha was a personification of that feminine rage on the battle field."

"You don't buy it?"

"I might," Gabe said. "If she hadn't claimed that the Boston Tea Party was really the manifestation of the colonies hidden desire to pleas Britain."

"And how does dumping a couple of tuns of tea into boston harbor get us on their good side?"

"Brit's like nothing better than a good pot of tea. Boston Harbor was a pot big enough for the whole empire."

"So what you're telling me is that this Leif person is a total crackpot?"

"She reads history like a novel, but, ah, I did a little background about Saultz. There definitely was a Martha Saultz who lived in New Jersey from 1742 until 1793 and, the one wood carving that is supposed to be about her shows this, um" he pointed his right had to his left. "Really big bracelet, almost like a glove," He looked up at her, "Bigger than that, but, more or less the same. It's all on the disk."

"Bayonet or sword, hum?"

"Yeah," Gabe said. He was looking at her with unusually piercing eyes, he had been ever since she had walked in. 

"What?" She finally demanded.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"There's something you're holding back."

"Well, there was this creepy passage about Martha Washington . . ."

"No," Sara said, trying not to be amused by his sly change of subject. "There is something you want to say."

"Yeah, right," Gabe said. He turned his head slightly so he was looking just over her shoulder at the scull of Hi Chi Lou, the Chinese princess who was fabled to have killed all her suitors in a fair Katana Fight. She died of old age unmarried. Suddenly he turned on her, his eyes open, his voice playful, and his expression nervous, "You doing anything this weekend?"

"This weekend?" That was the last thing she had expected him to say.

"Yeah, there's gonna be this big celebration, maybe you've heard of it, Easter?"

"Easter?" She was in a state of shock.

Gabe nodded, "Baskets? Eggs? Bunny? Chocolate? Thin shreds of green plastic that get everywhere? Any of this ring a bell?"

"Ah, yeah," Pez finally stuttered. She hadn't thought about that holiday, or any holiday really, for years. If a big one happened to stumble around, Danny usually had her over. But those times were long gone. "It's this weekend?"

"Second Sunday every April. Funny how they creep up."

"Funny," Sara said, finally beginning to shake off her dazed state.

"So, you doin' anything?"

"Ah," she laughed a little sarcastically. "I was planing on staying in town and saving the world from the evil."

"So nothing special?"

Sara laughed, this time it was genuine mirth. "I guess not."

"You, Sara Pezzini, need a break."

Sara blinked, she was shocked to hear her living friend echoing the sentiments of her dead partner. "What?"

"It's been hard," Gabe said softly. "Lately, it's just been really, really hard."

"I guess it has," Sara said, her voice was suddenly hoarse. She could see that Gabe was thinking of Sly, the close friend he had lost so unjustly. She had to try very hard not to think of Conchabar, and Danny, and her Father. It had been really, really hard.

"So I think," Gabe said, taking a deep brave breath. "That we should get away."

"I can't leave," Sara said, almost instinctively.

"What, your boss won't give you the weekend off?"

"You kidding? He'd love to get me out of his hair for any amount of time."

"So there's not problem then?" His grief was slowly subsiding into something resembling hope. But he wasn't a fool, and he knew it was a longshot.

"Did you have a place in mind for this weekend get away?"

"Actually yeah," Gabe said. "Imagine an all expense paid trip to the most picturesque up-state New York town you've ever seen."

"Picturesque meaning?"

"Boring as hell."

"I thought so."

"Look, my grandfather's a preacher, Easter's always been a big deal to our family. I have to go."

"I get that," Sara said, nodding her head. "I really do, what I don't get is why I have to go."

"You need a break Sara," Danny said. Suddenly, he was standing right next to her, urging her on. 

"Great, two against one," Pez muttered to herself under her breath.

"What did you just say?" Gabe asked.

"Why are you inviting me?" Sara lied.

Gabe looked at her with critical suspicion, but let it slide. "Because you need to get away, and you don't have any place else to go."

"Is this a pity invite?"

"No," Gabe said fervently. "This is a compassion invite. I know who you lost this year, and I know how bad it hurts."

Sara smothered a bitter laugh, not long ago she had told him the same thing.

"But," he continued. "You can't just fester in this mess, in New York. It's eatin' at you Pez. You gotta get away, just for a while, just to stop and breathe."

"Look at him, Sara," Danny urged. "All he wants to do is help."

There was a pause as Sara considered her options. She didn't want a break, she didn't want to breathe. Any number of things could happen in those moments when she was gone from her post. People could die, criminals could escape, the world could just . . . dissolve.

"It's only a weekend, Sara," Gabe said, with sincere hope he would be able to push her over the edge. "How much could you possibly miss?"

"Go," Danny urged. "You won't regret it."

"Fine," Sara finally said. Her voice was heavy with defeat; her posture and her face sullen. "I'll go."

"You don't have to do me any favors," Gabe said.

"No," Sara forced a smile that looked genuine and lied to both her friends. "I think it's exactly what I need."

***

Ian Nottingham stood before his master, his head bowed, his posture submissive. He was a knight in a world without chivalry: a wizard in an unenchanted land: a poet surrounded by those who did not speak his language. There were two, though, two that could understand him if they wanted to. Two that he had a bond with, a strong bond, impossible to break. Two that he loved but those two had no intention of ever loving him back. So he remained a black spot in a world of colors, a shadow in a world of light.

"And where is Sara Pezzini?" multi-millionaire Kenneth Irons asked, his voice was like a steel dagger, cold, heavy, solid and elegant.

"She has left the city," Ian said humbly.

"Really?" Irons asked, his voice less cold, heavy, solid and elegant. "Where has she gone, and with whom?"

"She left this morning," Ian said, delaying the news he dreaded to deliver for as long as possible. _There are times,_ he thought, _when I am the greatest of cowards_. "I believe she was headed to a small town north of here; Coppler's Grove."

"Coppler's Grove," Irons said sharply, his voice was a dagger again. "And who's interests drive her there, humm? Who took her?"

"The boy, Gabriel Bowman," Ian said, emotionally bracing himself for the blow he knew would come.

"Gabriel Bowman," the dagger was being raised to draw blood. "I thought I told you to remove him from the situation."

"I did exactly as you told me, he would not be deterred."

"What do you mean?" Irons asked angrily.

"He sought her out," Ian said. "He gives her information."

"Why? What does he hope to gain?"

"Perhaps only her friendship."

"Don't be ridiculous," Irons spat out. He had intended, from the first time he learned of the Witchblade, to control it, and if not it, then its wielder. He had succeeded, in the end, with Elizabeth Bronte, and was failing, repeatedly, with Sara Pezzini. He could not conceive that this young boy was succeeding were he had failed. Even less believable was that this boy was not trying to succeed at anything beyond simple, childlike, innocent friendship. "Whatever his goal, it is irrelevant. The fact remains that his presence is a clear threat to our success and he must, therefore, be eliminated. The sooner the better."

"I understand," Ian said. He had no trouble killing Gabriel, practically, ethically, or emotionally. However, he dreaded seeing Sara's face when she discovered her young friend's body, the tears rimming her green eyes and her soft lips trembling slightly. The very thought of it made his heart ache. 

"Good," Irons said with cool dispassion. "I eagerly await your return."

Ian nodded and slipped out of the room, a crusader in a land with no religion.

  
  


Two Be Continued . . . 


	2. Pedigree

  
  


Chapter 2: Pedigree 

Sara found herself very out of place in the old colonial diningroom. She was surrounded by polished oak. She had never been surrounded by polished oak before. And the clothes everyone was wearing, she felt under dressed. And Gabe, he was so, not Gabe. Of course he was Gabe, he still had that way of smiling at her, half cocked, and that aura of absolute honesty and trustworthiness, which, as Sara was surprised to discover, was not a family trait. But he was dressed in a way that could only be described as preppy, a conservatively plaided shirt tucked into kachi pants. Some part of her was frightened.

But he fit in. Everyone at the table was dressed that way, conservative upper middle class. The children were well mannered and the conversation revolved around a number of insignificant matters, such as the weather or the events at the local grade school, or Sara herself.

"So, Miss Pezzini," Mrs. Bowman said sweetly. She reminded Sara of June Clever, only adding about twenty years worth of wrinkles and gray hairs. "How did you two meet?"

"Ah," Sara hesitated, she wasn't quite sure what to say. She didn't want to lie to his family, which seemed so upstanding and prestigious, but she didn't want to tell them 'He was delivering a shrunken head to a horribly mutilated corpse' either.

"She was a client," Gabe explained. "She came into my shop." 

"What do you sell again, Gabriel?" his oldest brother, Michael, asked him. Mike reminded Sara very much of Jake. With blond hair, blue eyes (which all his siblings seemed to have) and broad shoulders, he had that 'all American' feel about him. She knew from the varius family photos scattered throughout the house that Mike had played football, and that he had been with his wife, Anna, since high school. Mike had just graduated Law School and was beginning to work in the family practice Bowman and Son's, Anna stayed at home and watched their two angelic children Curtis, six, and Mary, three. In short, they were a perfect family. 

"Oh come on Mike, you remember," his mother prompted. "Antiques."

Sara gave Gabe a curious glance, _Antiques_? 

"So what then?" Gracie, the sister closet to Gabe's age who was, inexplicably, in a wheelchair. Again, from the numerous photos displayed throughout the house, Sara knew that Gracie had gotten her disability rather recently, but she would never have dreamed of asking about it. "You two just hit it off?" 

"Hit it off?" Sara asked, "Not quite like that." 

"We're just friends," Gabe said, answering the question everyone at the table was too polite to ask. "We worked together on some research and we became friends." 

"What did you research?" Mrs. Bowman asked, trying very hard not to be disappointed. "Umm," Sara stuttered, "This bracelet," she held her arm above the sold oak table so that everyone could see the Witchblade in all its mystic splendor. "It was my grandmother's," Sara said, trying to make the story as believable as possible. "I just wanted to know more about it." 

"Oh, I like that bracelet," said Shauna, she was Gabriel's younger brother, Ralph's wife. She wasn't any older than 19 and yet she had a bustling three year old son, Timmy. 

"Yeah, me too," Joy said, she was the youngest Bowman, only 16. She seemed sweet, Sara thought, but she, Shauna, and Ralph had been consumed with their own conversation for most of dinner. "That was your grandmother's?" 

"Yes, it was." 

"And she gave it to you." 

"Not really," Sara said, spinning a delicate web of partial truths. "She died before I was born. It sort of came into my possession by accident." 

"Oh," Mrs. Bowman said. "That sounds like an interesting story." 

"Really it's not," Sara lied. 

"Inheritances can be tricky," Gabriel's father boomed. "We get an awful lot of those, let me tell you, and sometimes it does take years to figure out exactly who gets what assets."

Sara nodded, politely, and the conversation slid past her to a discussion between Mr. Bowman and Mike about the law firm's present inheritance case, and from there to general news about town. It was not until the plates were being cleared and coffee was being served that Sara's interest in the topic matter was drawn again.

"Oh Shauna," Ralph said, a little too sharp and a little too loud, so that the whole table's attention turned on the young couple. "What was it that you were supposed to tell Gabriel?" 

"Oh Damn," the young girl started softly, her brows were knit as she tried to remember. "What was that?" 

"Shauna!" Gabe's mother gasped. 

"Oh, sorry Mrs. Bowman, I didn't mean to curse." 

Sara hadn't even noticed the swear, she made a mental note to watch her tongue. 

"That's alright dear, now what did you have to tell Gabriel?" 

"Oh," she said, as if suddenly she remembered that she was trying to remember something. "Yeah, I was talking to Phil Avalla today." 

Gabe's eyes suddenly went wide and the silent, cool, aura that had surrounded him at dinner was shattered. "Phil's back?" 

"Um," Shauna said. "Wanted me to tell you something, but I can't remember what." 

Gabe laughed, a nervous, edgy laugh, Sara was dying to know who Phil Avalla was. "You can't remember anything?" 

"It was in the grocery market," Shauna whined in her defense. "Timmy was crying and I couldn't find the right brand of Tuna." 

Gabe nodded, "Understandable." Sara wondered if it was understandable that Shauna forgot his message or understandable that she could not find the right brand of tuna. 

"Phil was Gabriel's best friend in high school," Mrs. Bowman informed Sara as the conversation drifted on to other chance meetings at the grocery market in the last week. "They were in all the same clubs, history, art, chess, choir." 

"Hey Gabe," Sara said, slapping her still-dazed friend on the shoulder, "You never told me you were in choir." 

"Yeah," Gabe said, nodding slightly, obviously preoccupied with thoughts of his old friend. "Phil sorta dragged me into it." 

"Right," Sara said nodding. 

"Mom, you think I could take Pez for a walking tour of Coppler's Grove? Show her the church, the town square . . . the, ah, witches hut?" This last location was obviously made in an attempt to make his mother react. Unfortunately, she was still stuck on his first question. 

"Who's Pez?" his mother asked innocently. 

"Me," Sara supplied. "Last name's Pezzini, everyone call's me Pez, it's easier." 

"Why don't they call you Sara?" 

Pez shrugged, she had never, not once, wondered that. "I work at a police station, we don't do that." Which was, strictly speaking, untrue. She called Jake by his Christian name all the time, and he usually called her Sara, but she really didn't want to go into all of that right now. 

"Oh, I understand," Mrs. Bowman said, not really understanding at all. 

"So, Mom?" Gabe asked, like a child. "You mind?" 

"Yes, I do," his mother said, a little sharply. "Your grandparents are all coming over and they want to meet Sara." 

Gabe nodded, his lips pursed, his eyes disappointed. "Right." 

"After desert," his mother promised. 

* * * 

It was a chilly night for mid-April. Ian Nottingham could see his breath as he watched the old colonial home in the middle of the small town of Coppler's Grove. There were precious few places to hide in the hamlet and he was terrified someone would see him. In the streets of New York City, filled with muggers, rapists, gangsters, and murdurers, he felt safe. But here, in a small farm town which considered shop lifting a serious crime, he was terrified. He felt naked. He prayed that Sara Pezzini and Gabriel Bowman would spend the entire weekend in the large house so that he would never have to come out of his safe hiding place on the roof of the church not quite a block away. Unfortunately, his prayers were not answered. Despite the cold, wet wind and the consuming darkness left unshattered in a town without street lights, Gabriel and Sara walked out of the front door of the Bowman homestead and started a leisurely stroll southward. With unparalleled stealth, Ian followed them, listening to their conversation, trying desperately to form some sort of merciful plan for the removal of Gabriel Bowman from the situation.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sara said slowly. "About your family?" 

"Shoot."

"This is kinda a personal question, if you rather'd not tell me . . ."

"Sara, I said shoot. Whatever you need to know is fine." 

"Really?" 

"This is a small town, we don't believe in secrets." 

"Don't believe in them?" 

"Yeah, I don't believe in Santa Claus because he doesn't exist. Coppler's Grove doesn't believe in secrets because, here, they can't exist. Trust me, my mom would rather you learn from me than from Mrs. Hinkly the next door neighbor." 

"Alright, well then, um, why is your sister in a wheelchair?" 

"The night before we were supposed to go off to college she went out partying with her friends. They ended up cruising down interstate 35 a little too fast and, ah, to make a long story short, the doctors said it was a miracle that she came out of the coma." 

"God. . . . Gabe I'm so sorry." 

"Everyone say's it's the best thing that ever happened to her." 

"How can they say that?" 

"She doesn't party anymore, she doesn't leave the house." 

"So she's not the same person?" 

"No, no, she's not." 

There was a pause, which Ian relished because it allowed him to hear Sara breathe. But Gabriel's voice soon ended that little sliver of paradise. 

"Anything else?" 

"Gabe, I don't want to drag up . . ."

"Of course you do, your dying to know all this." 

"It's really not that important." 

"How 'bout Timmy and Shauna, I bet you can't wait to hear their story." 

"I have to admit I'm curious." 

"Shauna was Ralph's date to homecoming his senior year. I think you can figure out the rest." 

"Is she really as stupid as she seems?" 

"Incredible, but true." 

"Alright, then how about the other girl, the one that looks like you and Raulph, with black hair?" 

"That'd be Chastity, eldest sister and workaholic. You should be able to meet her tomorrow night, she'll drive up after work." 

"Where does she work?" 

"Wall Street Journal. She's a copy editor." 

"And how old is she?" 

"Ah, I don't know, 27 I think." 

"Impressive." 

"Yeah, I guess so." 

"So she's in the city?" 

"Yep." 

"You two ever see each other?" 

"Every now and then, she's really busy. When I was in college and she'd just graduated we'd hang out a lot." 

"When did you leave college?" 

"Middle of my sophomore year."

"And you just started selling mystic items." 

"Sara Pezzini, are you asking for the foundation of my fortune?" 

"Yeah I guess I am." 

"Three miles from here there is a county forest. In this forest there is a pit which is, according to legend, all that is left of a house. This house, when it was in use in the late 1600's was inhabited by three witches." 

"You looted the witches house." 

"Not intentionally. Phil and I found these really neat sticks there one day, sort of buried under this huge pile of brush. I did some research and found out that they were made of Rowan." 

"Rowan?" 

"It's a kind of wood, only found in Europe. The Druids considered it sacred." 

"Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that your first sales were of witches wands."

"Yep."

"Gabriel, they couldn't possibly have been real. It was over three hundred years."

"I know they didn't grow there and I know it was found in a witches pit."

"You sold it on those points alone."

"What did P.T. Barnum say?"

"There's a sucker born every minute?"

"No, Give the people what they want."

"Did P.T. Barnum really say that?"

"I don't know."

They laughed.

"I do have one more question?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"You have three sisters, Chastity, Grace and Joy."

"Tell her what she won Johnny."

"Your older brother's name is Michael . . ."

"Yeah."

"And your younger brother's name is Raphael."

"Yeah."

"And your name is Gabriel."

"Glad you noticed."

"What is wrong with your family?"

"I wish I could tell you Pez."

* * *

"We're here," Gabe said stopping dead in his tracks.

Sara took a couple of extra steps then, noticing that she was no longer being lead, stopped and stood next of Gabriel. What she saw shocked her. "Projects."

"We prefer to call it government subsidized housing."

"How P.C. of you."

"Polite and correct." 

They weren't really projects, in the city sense of the term. They were more like row houses with small ratty yards and overgrown gardens. They would have been paradise compared to the slums the poor of the city lived in, but Sara could see how, here surrounded by classic farm houses and beautiful colonials, they would be considered the worst living accommodations imaginable. Sara felt a tingle on her wrist. She glanced down, the dark red stone was shimmering, flashing. Something was wrong.

"I take it Phil lives here."

"Did."

"So you don't know where he is now?"

Gabe looked at her with a curious expression, but his only answer was, "At the moment no."

She glanced at her bracelet again, it was calm, its stone clear. "I guess it's time for you to find out," she said. Oddly, she felt more nervous at the moment than he did.

Gabe smiled at his friend, took a deep breath, and bounded up the molded cements stairs to the door. Bravely he knocked, anxiously he waited and surprised he was when a person he did not recognize opened the door. "Hey," Gabe said uncertainly as he surveyed the huge male who was, most definitely, not Phil Rodregez.

"Who are you?" the man said gruffly.

"I'm looking for Phil," Gabe said nervously.

"And who are you?"

Sara would have liked to have heard her friend's answer to that question, but unfortunately, almost as soon as it was asked the Witchblade decided it was a good time for her to have a vision.

She saw a girl, very pretty, with long black hair, cinnamon colored skin, and a soft rounded face. She was picking at a guitar and then, suddenly, there was a wave of violence. There was a man, huge, muscular, fit. He broke the guitar, smashing it over the frightened girl's back. He hit her, he raped her and then, most inexplicably, she saw the man and the girl were kissing, affectionately, in public. Sara inhaled sharply as the vision subsided. It didn't make any sense, why would the Witchblade give her visions of an abusive relationship. It was sick, perverse, and evil, but it was hardly unusual.

"Come on," Gabe said, angrily, hitting her on the shoulder a little harder than he meant to. "We gotta go to church."

"Church," Sara said, somewhat stunned. She turned to follow Gabriel, who was stomping away from the run down row houses, obviously upset. "Gabriel, what just happened back there?"

Gabe took a deep breath, tried to channel out his anger and frustration, and failed. "We were fed a load of crap, didn't you notice?"

"Ah," Sara stuttered. "Yeah."

Gabe just sighed in disgust and didn't talk until they reached the church and even then he didn't say anything until they were actually inside the dark, but full, sanctuary. 

"Aren't we a little under dressed?"

"That's why were coming late," Gabe whispered. "No one will notice."

"Than why come at all?"

"My grandfather," he nodded towards the pulpit where a man who looked very much like Gabriel plus seventy years, was standing. "He sees everything."

"But he won't see that we're underdressed."

"He won't care."

Sara nodded. She was still trying to figure out the situation she had been unwittingly drawn into. She was dying to know who Phil was, and why he was so important to Gabriel. And then, who opened the door and what did he say? And why did the Witchblade decide to show her that girl being beaten? She felt lost in that small town. Totally out of her element.

"We all know suffering," Gabriel's grandfather said. "We all suffer horribly in this life, we all have our own cross to bear. The question is, how many of us actually bear it?

"There is no shame in fearing our cross. Christ himself prayed that his cross could be taken from him, that his death could be avoided. But such things cannot be avoided. When the Lord gives us a calling how often do we follow our fears instead of following Christ? How often are we Peter, who denies our lord not once, not twice, but three times during this dark, dark night? Christ died so that we could live, but not so that we could live for ourselves, but rather for him. 

"I look over this congregation and wonder, how many of you have really risked your life for the pursuit of good? And if not your life, your finances, or your security? I do not hesitate to say that most of this congregation has not realized that, to be good, one must have contact with evil. If we are truly to be Christians, if we are to truly do what is good and right, we must face evil head on, with abandon, and with no fear for our own life. It is only then that we will be able to be saved. Let us pray."

The entire congregation bowed their heads, except for Sara and Gabriel. Gabe's eyes were, and had been throughout the service, focused on a large, masterfully crafted, golden chandelier which hung over the sanctuary like a halo. Ordinarily, Sara would have wondered what thoughts were dancing in the shadows that haunted his brown eyes, but the not-quite-fire-and-brimstone sermon was filling Sara's eyes with shadows of their own. 

She had known that Gabriel's maternal grandfather was the preacher before she entered the church, or at least she had been told that. There was, she hoped, a good chance that Gabe had told the man about her, about the Witchblade, about the periculum, even, or, maybe, even about what she had learned during the periculum. But that was impossible, she hadn't told anyone about what exactly she had learned, not even Danny. 

As the rest of the congregation prayed for absolution from their sin of cowardice and the gift of courage to confront the darkness that surrounded them, Sara's mind reeled. Two thoughts, however, did emerge out of her bewildered consciousness. First, the Witchblade drew to her (or perhaps drew her to) everything she needs. And second, Elizabeth Bronte telling her that the Witchblade was torn from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. She had considered that a metaphor, or analogy, but what if it were true . . .

"Amen," the entire congregation said, almost shocking Sara out of her contemplations. 

"Now, brothers and sisters, go out into the world and, like Peter, remember you have sinned."

"Come on," Gabriel said turning to Sara, "I want you to meet my grandfather." His eyes were red, during the service he had been crying.

"Gabriel, are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said, as if that were a ridiculous question. "Why?"

"No, no reason, I guess." Sara stuttered.

Gabriel nodded, "Maybe we should save Grandpa for another day."

"No, I want to talk to him."

"Alright then," he said, slipping out of the pew and leading her up the aisle across the current of well dressed, small town people. Some of them greeted Gabriel with genuine kindness, some of them seemed ambivalent, and some of them looked at him with violent disdain. Sara wished she was wearing a frilly dress with an obnoxious flower pattern on it, like the majority of the women exiting the small church. She was the only person in the little building wearing jeans. Sara took a nervous breath as she followed Gabriel, who was mounting the alter. They waited, patiently, as some saintly old woman congratulated the good reverend on his inspiring service. 

"Hey Gramps," Gabe said once the parishioner finally left.

"Gabriel!" his grandfather said, opening his arms and embracing his grandson with a strong hug. "I'm so glad you came."

"Hey, there's someone you need to meet," Gabriel said as he pulled away from the hug. "This is my friend, Sara Pezzini."

"Hello," Sara said, extending her hand. His handshake was firm and open, she liked him immediately. 

"Gabriel's mother told me he was bringing a friend, I never dreamed it would be such an attentive listener."

"Your sermon was very . . . touching." 

"Sometime's I'm divinely inspired."

"Only sometimes?"

"Unfortunately."

  
  


Two Be Continued . . . 


	3. Philomena

Chapter 3: Philomena 

(Just a quick note that I forgot to put at the top of the story. All the songs in this chapter and those following it were written and performed by Over the Rhine, my favorite band. This is an homage, not blatant copy write infringement.)

  
  


"Now dear," Mrs. Bowman said. "The bathroom is right over there if you need it, I'll leave the light on."

"Thank you," Sara said politely. She had dearly hoped that she and Gabe would have a couple of moments alone so they could talk. Sara was filled with thoughts she needed to explain to someone, or at least try to explain, so that she might be able to understand herself what was going on. But he had been whisked away by Mike to stay in their guest room while Sara was put in the room that had been Gabriel's when he had lived in the old colonial. It seemed backwards, to Sara, to put her in his childhood room while he was across town, well only two blocks away, in some strange room. 

"We're going to have breakfast at eight. Everyone will be coming over, Gabriel too."

"Eight, great."

"That's so cute," Shauna said. "That rhymes."

"Shauna, what are you doing up here?" Mrs. Bowman asked. Sara had been informed that Raulph, Shauna and Timmy had a little apartment in the basement. So the baby's crying shouldn't wake her. Sara had assumed that, by the age of two, children weren't babies anymore, and shouldn't be crying. But she had never been a mother, she had never even babysat, what did she know? 

"I remembered what Phil wanted me to give Gabriel."

"Sweetie," Mrs. Bowman said with a sort of tired, tried patience. "Gabriel's staying with Mike and Anna."

"I know," Shauna said after a moment. Sara seriously doubted wether Shauna had known. "I just didn't want to forget again. Here," she produced a small cassette tape. "This is what Phil gave me."

Sara looked at it for a moment. It wasn't hers, it was a gift, from one friend to another, it was private, it was important. But suddenly the Witchblade gave her another vision. It was that same girl, she was laughing, she was crying, she was singing.

"Sara," Mrs. Bowman said, placing her hand on Sara's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Ah, yeah," Sara stuttered, pulling herself out of the trance with some effort. "I'm fine, really."

"If you say so."

"I, ah, I guess I should take this," Sara said, taking the tape out of Shauna's hand. "For Gabriel."

"At least you won't forget it," Shauna said, relived.

"No," Sara said as she turned the plastic cover over and over in her hand. She looked up at her two hostesses and smiled. "Well, I really should get to bed."

"Of course, goodnight dear," Mrs. Bowman said, "Shauna say goodnight."

"Night," Shauna said, just before Mrs. Bowman grabbed her arm and led her down the hall and to the stairs. Sara backed into Gabriel's room slowly, then, shut and locked the doors. 

The room was small with a slanted ceiling that had little green glow in the dark stars all over it. As Sara casually observed the unique skyscape she realized that the stars were accurately placed, that is, each one was a real constellation. Ursa major and minor, Orion and his dog, Leo and Cassiopeia, they were all there. Across from the slanted wall was a bed, awkwardly lofted over a desk., and on that desk was a small boom box, into which Sara slipped the tape.

"You know that's meant for him," Danny said over her shoulder. "You won't understand it."

"Maybe not," Sara said as she pushed play. "But it won't be the first thing tonight I haven't understood." There was a moment of silence as they waited for the tape to crackle on. 

After a few seconds of static a woman's voice said, "Um, this is 'I'm happy with myself.'" There were a few introductory bars played on a guitar and then the girl started singing "_I'm happy with myself. I'm happy with myself, and I don't have what it takes to please you . . ._"

"Hum," Sara said, turning her attention from the music, which was not meant for her and she didn't quite understand, to a note in the cassette case.

"That's not meant for you either."

"Well, it's too late for that," Sara said as she read the note, which said:

  
  


_Dear Gabriel_

_This is for you, all of it. If you want, please come and find me. I'm so sorry._

_Phil_

  
  


"You know, it's funny," Danny said, pulling Sara's attention away from the note. "Truth can't be spoken, it has to be discovered; can't be seen, it must be felt."

"What are you talking about Danny?" 

"Do you remember what Dominique told you?"

"Yeah," Sara said sarcastically. "Irons appreciates a fine brood mare."

"You know what I mean."

"Everything is connected."

"You have to be here, Sara. These people, this place, this situation."

"I thought I was coming here for a break, Danny, not to fix some problem between Gabriel and his former best friend."

"Your right," Danny said as he slipped into a directors chair by the window, the only place to sit in the room. "This is Gabriel's problem, and you can't possibly fix it for him."

"So then why am I here? If this is all supposed to have purpose, if the Witchblade is supposed to bring everything together why am I in the middle of nowhere, the hell far away from New York and all my problems."

Danny shrugged, dismissing the question without any thought. "When was the last time you went to church?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Rest gives strength to the body, contemplation to the mind, and prayer to the soul."

"You want I should go hunt down Gabriel's grandfather and confess all?"

"No," Danny said slowly. "I want your body, mind, and soul to be as strong as possible. The fight that's coming will be a thousand fold more difficult than any fight you have encountered before."

Sara looked up at her partner with a sense of dread. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I say, Sara."

"No," she said angrily. "The hell with that, what do you really mean?"

"I don't want to repeat myself like a broken record."

"I can't believe anything could be more difficult than seeing Conchabar killed with_ my own Goddam weapon_! I don't believe anything could be harder than facing the periculum, a test that I didn't know was coming and couldn't escape and would kill me if I failed! I can't believe it could get harder."

"Just because you don't believe something, doesn't mean it isn't true." 

"No," Sara said again, tears were starting to form on the ridges of her eyes and she could feel her throat constrict.

"This is a place of rest, comfort, discovery," Danny assured her. "Don't fear the future, first gain as much from the present as possible."

"That's easy for you to say Danny, you don't have to live through this shit."

"We all know suffering, we all have our cross to bear."

Sara looked at her friend, who had not only carried his cross but been crucified on it. In the background the music continued, "_'Cause we smile in here/ we don't get too close to sadness.  
'Cause what's holding us / is just about to break/Ain't it funny how life can drag behind us/just like so much dead weight_."

* * * 

Sara was caught in a fitful half sleep. She knew she was awake, but she couldn't truly fall asleep. Those songs on Gabe's tape were flowing through her thoughts, haunting her, along with the visions of the girl being abused. How was Sara supposed to rest and gain strength with those images in her head. It was about two a.m. and it was all Sara could do to lie in Gabriel's bed and look at the stars on the wall when, suddenly, their was a rap on her window, or more precisely, Gabriel's window.

Sara, mildly curious, slightly annoyed, and eternally grateful that she now had a good reason not to sleep, tumbled off of Gabriel's bed and hit the floor with a thud. Pulling a sweat shirt on over her skimpy pajama top she opened the small window and leaned out. 

There was a girl, _the girl_, standing over three stories below her, throwing pebbles up to the window. Sara was shocked, so shocked that it took a moment for her to react once the girl turned and started to run. "Damn," Sara spit out, furious at herself for spooking the girl. She grabbed the dark blue, NYPD standard issue sweat pants that matched her sweat shirt so well, and had them on in less than a heartbeat. A second past until she was able to open the window and nearly five ticks on her watch before she reached the ground, jumping with Catlike skill to a near by Maple tree and then bounding down it without sparing a thought for her footing, or gravity.

The girl didn't see this amazing acrobatic feet, she was to busy running as fast as she could into the darkness that wrapped around the edges of the Bowman's huge back yard. But the girl was not a natural athlete, apposed to Sara. And she didn't spend hours a day keeping her body in perfect condition, apposed to Sara. And she didn't have a magical bracelet which increased her agility, strength, and speed, apposed to Sara. Less than thirty seconds after the girl had thrown her pebbles up to the window, Sara was grabbing her arm and pulling the girl to a stop.

"Ahhh," she screamed, obviously in pain, before she remembered herself, and where she was. She quickly stopped her screech and attempted to say something, but because she was short of breath and frightened, only gasps came out of her life.

"Who are you?" Sara demanded. She knew, in a sense, that the girl had not meant to taunt her with the visions of her abuse. She knew that the Witchblade made all those decisions, chose all those images, and gave her the dollop of fear and anger associated with the near angelic face.

"It's not important," the girl said, trying to pull herself away. "I'm sorry, so sorry I bothered you. I thought Gabriel . . ."

"You were looking for Gabriel?"

She nodded, "It doesn't matter, it's not important."

"If you came out at two a.m. and threw rocks at his window, I kinda think that it's important."

"I just wanted to talk to him," the girl said apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"You don't have to apologize," Sara said, gently letting go of the girls arm. "I just want to know who you are."

The girl looked at her suspiciously.

"Honestly, right now, that's all I want to know."

"Phillis Avalla," the girl said, glancing away from Sara, letting her long black hair slide over her face and hide it.

"Phillis Avalla," Sara said with amazement. "_Phil _Avalla?!"

"You know who I am?" Phillis asked, tilting her head so that her almond-like eyes peered out from behind the veil of her hair. 

"No," Pez said, totally overwhelmed by the extent to which she had not put it together. 

"I need to go," Phil said meekly. "Can I go?"

"No," Sara stuttered again. "I, I think we need to talk."

"I can't . . ."

"You could have talked to Gabriel."

The girl didn't have an answer to that, she just nodded dumbly. 

"Come on," Sara said, taking Phil's arm again, this time more gently. "Let's sit down." 

Sara started to move towards a cute little gazebo near the big maple tree in the Bowman's back yard. Regularly she would spare a moment to contemplate the ostentatiousness of putting a gazebo in your back yard, but she was a little preoccupied: Phil did not want to follow.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Sara said, slowly, carefully, moving her hand up so she could push Phillis's black silky hair away from her face, exposing a horrid blue-black bruise that spread across her forehead, to her temple, and then crept down her neck. "Unlike some people."

Humbly and meekly, Phil let Sara lead her to the gazebo, and sat down on the hard, cold wooden bench.

"I was listening to your tape," Sara said, hoping that would open the girl up. It worked, she opened like a flower, her eyes brightening and her lips, pale and thin, blossomed into a smile.

"Gabriel got it?"

"No," Sara said cautiously. "I got it."

"I made it for him," Phil said a little defensively. "It's his."

"I understand that," Sara said, a little confused with her reaction. Danny had reacted the same way. "You don't mind that I heard it, do you?"

"I guess not," She said. "It's just he needs to hear it."

"Your note," Sara said. "You said you were sorry."

"The note was for him too."

"What are you sorry for?"

"We fought," Phil said, obviously skirting around the issue. "I want him to know he was right and, I, I wish I had listened."

"That's why you were throwing rocks at his window."

"I guess."

"How about that?" Sara said, motioning to the huge bruise that spread across the girl's face.

Phil smiled with a sad irony, "One more proof that he was right."

"He wants to see you," Sara assured the girl, who was nearly in tears. "I'd even say he needs to see you."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"I thought he would be, ah, alone."

"In his room?"

"I should maybe just say it."

"Yeah, I think maybe you should," Sara said, confused.

"I don't want to come between you and Gabriel, I should have known he would be seeing someone . . ."

"Seeing someone?"

"I don't want to be a point of contention, if he's happy . . ."

"Phillis," Sara said sharply. "There is nothing going on between Gabriel and I."

"He brought you here to meet his family," Phil said, smiling wisely.

"He brought me here because I don't have a family of my own," Sara said. "Both my parents are dead and, just this year, my partner and my boyfriend died. Gabriel was incredibly kind to bring me here, he just wanted to help me, as a friend."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else."

Phillis breathed a sigh of relief, "I should have known, Gabriel's kind of an "always a bridesmaid, never a bride" kind of guy."

"Always a bridesmaid?"

"Groomsman, I guess."

"Not a chick magnet in high school?"

"He was too nice," Phillis said, her willowy voice. "Too shy. He would never hit on a girl and in a town like this girls don't hit on guys."

"Speaking of guys," Sara said, directing the conversation back to where she wanted it. "I want you to tell me about the great catch that did this." She nodded towards the huge bruise on the girl's head.

"I fell," Phillis said, not quite naturally. "I'm such a klutz. Just, whoops, slipped in the bathroom."

"If you want to tell Gabriel that, I understand," Sara said. "I won't tell him otherwise, but I would appreciate it if you told me the truth."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Phillis said, laughing nervously.

"You can't lie to me," Sara said, her voice gentle but firm, her eyes open and honest. "I'm a cop, I see this thing every day."

Phillis looked down, suddenly very interested in her hands. She didn't say anything.

"It's the man who talked to Gabriel, isn't it?" Sara said more than asked. "He's your boyfriend."

"We started dating three years ago."

"Three years is a long time . . ."

Phillis nodded.

". . . especially if he abuses you for the whole time."

Phillis looked up again, Sara could see the question _how do you know?_ forming on the young girls lips. She didn't ask it though.

"Please don't tell Gabriel," was all she said.

"No," Sara said. "You need to do that."

"I can't," Phillis choked, she had been holding back tears for a while and she just couldn't anymore. "Do you have any idea what he would do?"

Sara knew exactly what Gabriel would do, the Witchblade told her in clear, sharp images. He would protect her. He would be noble to a fault. He would get himself killed in the process. Sara took a sharp breath, this couldn't be the reason she had come to this small town in the middle of New York, not to see yet another of her friends die. That was not possible. She licked her lips and her mind raced, fear-of-loss contorted in her breast and worked it's way up to her throat so that she had to force out the words, "Don't worry about Gabriel, the one you need to worry about is yourself." The words were hollow, Sara didn't mean them. She knew that, for the rest of this little trip, the only thing she would do is worry about Gabriel. But, thankfully, Phillis seemed a little too self absorbed to notice that. "You need to get away from him."

"He'll follow me," the girl said with a frightened voice. 

"Than go someplace he can't follow, leave the town, the state."

"I tried," Phillis said, tears streamed down her cheeks, making hundreds of little rivulets. "I ended up in the hospital, I said I got hit by a car."

"Call the police."

"I tried that too . . ." Phillis said. For a moment, she was caught in the memory of that night, of the way he had looked at her with coal black eyes filled with hatred and anger, the way he hadn't yelled, but rather, had kept his voice completely level as he assured the police that nothing was wrong, and they believed him, and left. She remembered the way he walked upstairs with a icy determination and took the one thing she loved, the one thing that was a harbor for her, the old guitar that had belonged to her father, and beat her over the head with it. Then he threw her down the stairs and locked her out of the house. Cold and bleeding, her spirit and hope crushed, her arm and collarbone broken, she had no choice but to sleep in the flower bed near where the dryer released its steam and kept the ground from freezing on those cold March nights. The next day, she had to go to him and plead for forgiveness, because she had nowhere else to go. Any dignity, any pride, any part of herself that was still alive and thriving died that night. And the Witchblade showed Sara it all. 

"I, I can't," Phillis stuttered, "Can't call the police."

Sara sat, staring at this girl in awe. Usually Sara, who was so strong, felt mildly annoyed at women who let themselves be victimized that way. But the sheer tragedy of Phillis' situation and the very intimate way Sara had watched it, blow by blow, evoked nothing but compassion. She couldn't think of a thing to say.

"I just wanted to tell Gabriel that I was sorry and he was right," Phillis said, somehow pulling herself away from her tragic circumstances and wiping the tears from her eyes. "Please, please let him know that."

"Sure," Sara said, because she couldn't think to say anything else. "No problem."

"And please, give him the tape."

"I will."

"Thank you," Phillis said, wiping the last of her tears away and standing up, "I need to get back . . ."

"Before he notices you're missing."

She nodded.

Sara nodded understandingly in return and watched as the girl slipped away into the darkest shadows in the darkest part of the night.

To be continued . . .


	4. Disclosure

Chapter 4: Disclosure

"Sara," Gabriel said, pounding on the door that led to his room. He often wondered why, exactly, his parents hadn't changed it into a study or a library, or a half decent guest room. He further wondered why they had put Sara up there, when it was unquestionably the worst room in the house. But his mother would not have heard of anything else and so Gabriel had begrudgingly been carted off to spend a night with Curt talking about the innate qualities inherent in such varied things as Nintendo, vegetables, and worms.

But now it was nearly nine a.m., and his mom was getting worried about her guest. So, like his parents had done so many times, Gabriel stood outside of the door to his bedroom and pounded. "Sara!"

"What?" a voice groaned. He heard a thump and then, seconds later, the door opened to reveal an only partially awake Sara Pezzini. 

"Hey Pez," Gabriel said, unsure of how to react to this new side of his friend. "Time to rise and shine!"

"Time?" Sara asked, she had just reached REM sleep when Gabriel had come knocking at her door. Most of her was still asleep. 

"It's almost nine," Gabriel said. "God, Pez, you really look horrible."

"Thanks Gabriel," Sara said, slightly aroused by the insult. "You think I have time for a quick shower before breakfast." 

"I hope so." 

Sara nodded and slipped back into Gabriel's room, but before she closed the door she remembered something. Turning around sharply, her eyes truly awake for the first time that day, she grabbed his arm suddenly and pulled him into the room. 

"Hey Sara," Gabe said, more than a little surprised, "What gives?" 

"You need to hear something." 

"Hear something?" 

"Yeah," Sara said, sitting him down in the directors chair. "Listen to this." She pushed the play button on the old boom box and the sudden crackle of static so common to unprofessional recordings created a less than pleasant white noise. 

"Sara what is this?" 

"I'm going to take a quick shower, you just listen,"

"Sara?" Gabe asked again, but to no avail. She whisked herself out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Gabe alone with the static. Frustrated and confused, Gabriel lifted himself out of the chair and started looking for the cassette cover that would explain to him what he was listening to and maybe, if he was really lucky, why Sara _needed_ him to hear it. But that's when the voice started, and that's when he didn't need an explanation any more. The voice was willowy, like the piano music, and all to familiar: 

_"(Don't be bothered, no.)_

_Don't be bothered by the fears.  
I'll try to bottle them like my mother's perfume.  
She wore it only on Sunday,  
kept it safe in her room in a chest with a key.  
We found it anyway._

  
  


_Don't be bothered by the fears.  
They'll only join us like the sky that blushes red tonight.  
And makes the wind die down,  
calms the troubled sea (more out of duty than pleasure,  
but out of pleasure nonetheless.)_

  
  


_Your fire burns me like a favorite song.  
A song I should have known all along.  
I feel you move like smoke in my eyes.  
And that is why._

  
  


_Don't be bothered by the fears  
that sing from my eyes like carillon ringing only on Sunday  
on the roof down our street finally Over the River.  
Ring for you, ring for me, finally, forever.  
It's just I never, it's just I never thought,  
I never thought that I could be this free."_

  
  


The chills ran down Gabriel's spine as the song ended. He wanted to listen to it again, but another song started and, before he had time to digest what he had just heard, a whole new flood of emotions washed over him.

  
  


"_It makes a difference_

_when you walk through a room _

_with that worrisome smile _

_road weary perfume _

_but this isn't the place _

_and it isn't the time for this beautiful delusion _

_that is robbing me blind _

  
  


_i want to know _

_i want to know _

_will it make a difference _

_when i go _

  
  


_it makes a difference _

_that i'm feeling this way _

_with plenty to think about _

_and so little to say _

_except for this confession _

_that is poised on my lips _

_i'm not letting go of God _

_I'm just losing my grip _

  
  


_i want to know _

_i want to know _

_will it keep you guessing _

_when i go _

  
  


_what is a love if the love's not my own _

_this is not my home _

_this is lonely but never alone _

  
  


_i just want to hold you _

_in my gaze for awhile _

_so i can remember _

_every line around your smile _

_then i want to know _

_i want to know _

_will it make a difference _

_when I go"_

  
  


He was still enchanted by the music when the door opened and Sara, dressed only in a terrycloth bath robe, came in.

"Alright Gabriel," she said, leaning over him to push the stop button and break the spell. "I gotta get dressed."

"Sara," Gabriel laughed softly, "You can't just . . ." He looked at her, soaking wet in her bathrobe and realized that she could just. So, meekly, he left the room, closing the door behind him and waiting eagerly in the hallway for her to come out and give him any explanation she could.

"Hey Grunge," A sharp feminine voice said behind him. Gabe turned around to look at his youngest sister Joy. As a general rule, Gabriel didn't like his younger siblings. He loved them, but, had he been given the choice, the girl born only a few years after him would not have been the air-head, cheerleader, pop-star icon that she was.

"Hey prep," he replied.

"Why'd she kick you out?"

"She's changing."

"What, like you've never seen that before," Joy scoffed, a little too worldly for anyone's younger sister.

"No," Gabriel said, trying to get his voice to downplay the horror and disgust he felt at the very idea. "I haven't."

"You mean you to haven't . . ."

"She's just a freind, Joy."

"She's awful pretty for a friend."

"Yeah, well, next time I'll try to make friends with less attractive people, how 'bout that?"

"You're such a snob."

"And you're a brat."

"All I can say is thank God you live in the city."

"I say that all the time too."

Joy huffed, annoyed. It was not often that she bantered with people of equal or greater wit, she didn't like it. "Mom wants to know when you and your girlfriend'll be down."

"She's not my girlfriend," Gabriel insisted. "And soon."

"Whatever," Joy said as she stormed away. Gabe looked after her with an annoyance only an older brother can feel. She had been so cute when she was little, then, bam, she hit junior high and she was a brat. What had happened, what had gone wrong? He didn't know, he'd left for college by then, but he hoped someday she would somehow get sweet again and let him know.

With a sigh Gabe leaned close to the door and knocked again, "Sara we gotta talk."

"Yeah, you can come in," she said. He did and found her completely dressed, doubled over, waving a blow dryer up and down her long brown hair. 

Gabriel shut the door behind him and then walked over, crouching down so that, while she couldn't really look him in the eye, their faces were parallel. "Where'd you get that tape?"

"Shauna."

"Shauna?" Gabriel was shocked. "Where'd she get it?" 

"From Phillis," Sara said, suddenly standing up. Her only partially dry hair streaming behind her and leaving a slight mist on everything in the room, including Gabe. He only peripherally noticed.

"Why'd she give it to you?"

"You weren't here last night," Sara explained as she picked up a brush she had placed on his desk and started forcing it through her wet hair. "She's not the only one who had to pass along the message."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone was throwing rocks at this window last night."

Gabriel's eyes lit up and his voice bubbled with excitement. "Wha'd she say?"

"That she's sorry," Sara said. 

"She's sorry," Gabriel said, his eyes were slowly losing their excitement and becoming sad. "Anything else."

"And that you were right. Gabriel what does that mean?"

Gabe ignored the question. "Is she alright?"

Sara, both hands extend above her head as she pulled a chunk of her hair back, turned her head and looked at Gabriel, "Why do you ask that?"

"She said I was right," Gabriel said sadly. "The last thing I said to her was that, if she kept chasing after the same kinda guys, she could get herself killed." 

"When'd you tell her that?" 

"Two years ago," Gabe said sadly. "I haven't seen her since," he looked away, either to avoid Sara's accusing eyes or hide the tears that were welling up in his own. "We had a kind of fight." 

"Two years? That's a long time to not talk to a best friend." 

"She didn't want to hear what I had to say, I didn't want to be the shoulder she cried on every time her drunken boyfriend popped her one," his voice was thin, either with anger or with grief, it was hard to tell. "I abandoned her." 

"No, you didn't." 

"The hell I didn't," Gabe said, looking up, he was to angry at himself now to care who saw that he was crying. "You saw that brute she was living with." 

"She chose to be with him and she has to choose to leave." 

"And you heard the music, didn't you?" Gabe said, pressing the point home with a little more emotional restraint. "She's sad and afraid and trying to protect me, not herself." 

"If you confront that man, he will kill you." Sara said, flatly. She didn't mention that she had seen it happen because she didn't believe the Witchblade. That was a warning, not a vision, and therefore it wasn't worth contemplating. 

"And if I don't he'll kill her." 

"Gabriel, I'm a cop. I deal with this kind of thing all the time," Sara lied.

"No you don't, you're a homicide detective, the only time you deal with this kinda thing is after the girl's already dead." 

"Who's dead?" The overly sugary sweet voice of Joy said as she burst into the room uninvited. 

"Nobody," Sara said, her voice tense. "What do you want?  
"Grunge, mom's freakin' about the waffles." 

"Right," Gabe said, taking a deep breath and bottling his feelings like his mother's perfume. "Come on Pez." 

Their was so much more she wanted to say to him, but in front of his little sister was not the place, and she had a feeling the breakfast table wouldn't be either. So with a sigh and one last glance in a mirror, she followed Gabriel out of his room and down the stairs into the big oak dining room. 

* * * 

The morning was spent in the most pleasant way Sara could imagine, doing nothing. The entire family, all 16 of them, just sat and talked and sipped coffee. Sara had a nice long discussion with the three practicing Bowmans of Bowman and Sons, Gabriel's grandfather, father, and brother Mike, about the flaws in the legal system as she saw it. They, in turn, informed her of how small town politics between the judge, the lawyers, and the local police solved all those problems. Gabe's grandfather even proposed that, if she was so frustrated, she should move to a little place like Coppler's Grove and be the law there. She only laughed. Throughout this conversation, Gabriel sat at her side, a silent observer. 

Then, she was dragged into a discussion with Gabriel's mother, Anna (who always seemed like she was about to cry, even when she laughed) and Shauna about the varied pros and cons of being a 'stay-at-home-mom.' Sara continually insisted that she had nothing to contribute to this conversation, seeing as she was not a mom, but once she admitted she would, hypothetically, continue being a cop, even after she had a kid, that argument lost validity. Shauna wanted to stay at home with her little Timmy, even though that wasn't really financially tenable, Ralph's salary as a clerk at Bowman and Sons was not quite enough to live on, and certainly not enough to go to college and law school on, as the young man intended. Anna, who had a part-time job as a school nurse, argued that working made you a better mom because your children learned how to be independent. Mrs. Bowman said that finances should be considered before all else; why when she and Tony (Mr. Bowman) had first been starting out she supported him through law school by cleaning houses because he needed it, and they needed it as a family. Sara's opinion was that you should follow your bliss. She would be a detective with a child because she loved being a detective. Of course, this meant that she agreed with Shauna, a fact which she rued, and so she felt it necessary to remind them all that she was not, nor ever intended to be, a mother. 

Gabriel was, understandably, absent during this conversation. He had found his way to Timmy and Mary, who were playing with duplos on the floor. She watched him, pretending she was watching Timmy, and was amazed with how casual he was with the kids. He never yelled at them, or scolded them. He excepted their only slightly comprehendible ramblings eagerly and pretended he understood. He didn't build a tower bigger than theirs, and he always let them knock his tower down. Sara had an elusive feeling that she wold never have kids, her life was too fast and too furious. But secretly, she hoped Gabriel would, truly wonderful fathers are few and far between, it would be a great shame if one was lost.   
But of all the people she talked to, she didn't get a chance to speak with the one person she really wanted to, Gabriel's other grandfather, the Rev. Dunn. She needed to ask him what had his call to action really meant. How much suffering was needed to do good, how far did one have to drag the cross? Sara's parents had been good Irish/Italian Catholics: she had been dragged to mass every Easter and she had been forced through the rigamarole of baptism, first communion, first confession, and confirmation. She knew that not even Jesus carried the cross the whole way to calvary. But then again, she knew he did die on it. And it wasn't death she was afraid of, at least not her death. But she couldn't bear to think of her vision, seeing Gabriel killed. And then their was Phillis, she was afraid for her too. And the more she thought, the more she realized that, although she did not need to worry about losing her own life for it was lost already, she could not stop worrying about others, who shouldn't be forced to take up her cross. 

But fate would not have her talk to the good reverend. Before got a chance to approach him in the big colonial house the entire family decided to move outside. On the Saturday before Easter the church always threw a big Easter egg hunt, or so Sara was told, in the town square. Curtis, Mary and Timmy had been inquiring after the event all morning and Curtis had even been kind enough to tell Sara every last detail of last year's hunt, from the moment it started and Richie Mellano stepped on his foot, until the end when he had more blue eggs than anyone else. The trick was, he said, leaving all the real hard-boiled eggs when you found them, and only pick up the plastic ones. You see, Curtis said, each kid only gets five eggs, and the little kids don't care if they get regular eggs 'cause they're too little to know that the plastic ones are better 'cause they have candy. Sara wasn't quite sure how to respond to this information. She tried to remember what Gabriel had done. She smiled, she nodded, and she laughed when Curtis laughed. These few simple acts won her a place in young Curtis's heart forever.

The egg hunt was actually, surprisingly, fun. She and Gabriel watched it like a spectator sport, sitting on a small bench under a tree in the far corner of the square.

"You know," Sara said. "It's hard to believe you grew up here."

"I don't know, I find it pretty believable."

"You just seem bigger than this town, you know. This place compared to New York . . ."

Gabriel shrugged. "It is what it is."

"This is so different than how I was raised," Sara said. Gabriel turned his eyes away from the egg hunt to look at her, she had never shared part of herself with him. He hadn't invited her out to his folks house to discover childhood confessions, but it was a nice perk. "My mother would never have let me just run around with other kids like this. To many freaks in New York, you know."

"She was protective?"

"First twelve years of my life It flet like I was in a cage, you know?" Sara laughed. "But then she died and, ah, I realized how much I needed to be protected."

"Needed?"

Sara shrugged, "Well, wanted."

"What about your dad?"

"He protected me in his own way," Sara said. "And he taught me to be self sufficient, which protected me most of all."

Gabe nodded, and shifted his gaze towards back towards the frolicking children. This time Sara turned her head and examined Gabriel, "Did you do this, as a kid?"

"The egg hunt?" Gabe asked, turning towards Sara. She nodded, "Oh, yeah."

"You and Phil?"

"No," Gabriel said, shaking his head and turning back to the game. "She didn't come until seventh grade, we were all too cool to be caught looking for Easter eggs at that point."

"You want to tell me the story?"

"The egg hunt story?"

"The Phillis and Gabriel story."

"Ah," Gabe said, laughing and shaking his head. "A tale of star crossed lovers as told by John Hughes."

"John Hughes?"

"You ever see _Some Kind of Wonderful?_" Gabriel asked, "With the blond girl and nerdy kid from _Breakfast Club_ and the mom from _Back to the Future_?"

It took a moment for Sara to remember that particular film, all of Hughes's works sort of streamed together for her, but finally she nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm the blond girl, Phil's the nerdy boy, and every jerk in the tri-state area is Marty McFly's mom."

"Unrequited love," Sara said, just a little sadly.

"Yeah," Gabe responded, with just a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Only the movie got it wrong. I didn't get diamonds in the end, all I got was the worst fight I've ever had, with anyone."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Gabriel sighed. "It was the summer after our freshman year of college. We both thought we were so, you know, mature," he rolled his eyes at the ludicrousness of it. "She was telling me about her roommates and I was telling her about Sly and then she brought up this guy she knew and I, stupidly, set into her about how she always followed the wrong guy and she had to break away. So she got all defensive and asked who did I think she should go out with, me?"

"You said yes didn't you?" Sara said, hoping against hope that the Gabriel of years ago would not be that foolish.

"Yeah," he said, his voice making it perfectly clear he knew exactly how stupid he had been. "I did."

"Oh, Gabriel."

"Needless to say we haven't talked since then. She spent all her time at her school in Poughkeepsie and I got really involved with the business . . ." his explanation faded, just as his friendship had, into a sort of sad uncertainty.

"It's not too late," Sara said. "She wants to be close to you again."

"And how's she gonna pull that off, Sara?" Gabriel asked. "The gorilla she's currently dating doesn't want me anywhere near her."

"Maybe he's worried."

"Don't," Gabriel said with a warning laugh, "give me that kind of hope."

"All I know is that she was throwing rocks at your window last night," Sara said. "And she's been carrying around a cassette tape of those songs to give to you."

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something, but what Sara never knew, because right at that moment Curtis ran up, screaming. "Uncle 'Riel, Uncle 'Riel!"

"Yeah Curt?" Gabe said, he seemed almost glad to have someone draw the topic away from the mistakes of his youth.

"There's a girl wants to speak to you."

Gabriel's relief was short lived. "What girl?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Over there," Curtis said, pointing to a beautiful girl with cinnamon tinted skin and long black hair pulled back in a thick blue scarf that completely hid her forehead, running down to her temple and the side of her neck. "She said to tell you she's not gonna talk to you unless you talk to her."

"What is this," Sara scoffed. "Junior high?"

"Thanks Curt," Gabriel said. As he stood he took a time to ruffle his nephew's hair, an action that got him an affectionate 'hey' out of the boy.

Gabriel took nearly three determined steps towards Phillis, who was waiting anxiously, before he stopped and looked behind him. Sara was still sitting on the bench, watching him with an almost motherly pride. "Aren't you commin'?" Gabe asked nervously.

"Phil and I had a nice long discussion last night, Romeo," she said, smiling. "Whatever she wants to say now, she wants to say to you."

"Thanks Sara," Gabe said, genuinely. Curtis followed him about half way to Phillis, before he was showed away by the older boy. 

"They make an interesting couple," Danny said. He was suddenly occupying the space Gabe had filled only moments ago. "Not really cute, but striking."

"And how are you this fine day, Danny?" Sara asked. Seeing Phillis, in the daylight, talking to Gabriel had lifted Sara's spirit and sense of hope a thousand fold. She was in an extremely good mood.

"I'm fine," Danny said. "Later I'm going to see Holly and Charles visit my mother."

"You're gonna what?" Sara asked, shocked. Holly was Danny's widow, and Charles was their son. Sara hadn't seen them since the funeral and she had, for some reason, assumed that Danny had not either.

"It's a holiday, I wanna spend it with my family."

"Well, I know but . . ."

"Did you think you were the only one I visited?"

"I, ah, I never really thought about it."

"Anyway, Sara, I don't have much time, so I want you to remember one thing."

"What's that?"

"You may judge people by their intentions as long as you hold them accountable for their actions."

"What the hell does that mean?" Sara demanded. But Danny wasn't there to answer. 

She sighed, and looked at the children running around, oblivious to the eyes that were looking at her, silently wondering if it was her guardian angel she had just talked to and what it was he had said.

"Sara," A deep, raspy voice said, leaking out of the bushes behind her.

Her heart stopped and her mind quickly tried to convince her that what it was thinking was not possible. Still, she had to be sure, "Nottingham?" she asked, her voice trembling just slightly.

"Yes, Lady Sara, It's me."

A cold wave of fear washed over her. She hadn't seen Ian Nottingham since he had left her partner, Jake, lying on the ground, beaten senseless and she hadn't talked to him since he had admitted to the murder of Gabriel's friend, Sly. And yet, there was some small part of her, totally separated from all logic and reason, that never felt safer than when he was around. "What the hell are you doing here?" Sara asked through clenched teeth. Her eyes remained focused on Gabriel, who seemed to be doing very well with Phillis. They were both smiling, unabashedly. If she was not consumed with being creeped out by Ian Nottingham's presence behind her, she would have been touched by the scene in front of her.

"I am protecting you," Nottingham said simply.

"Really, from what? That kid over there. He looks pretty shifty with that hard boiled egg."

"You are in danger of nothing so base as physical violence."

"Than what kind of danger am I in?"

"You're being poisoned, Sara," Ian said fervently. "That boy is poisoning you."

Sara laughed, "I thought you said I was not in bodily harm."

"It's not your body that is being poisoned, Sara, it is your mind. A far more insidious and harmful procedure."

"And who, pray tell, is poisoning me?" Sara asked sarcastically.

"The boy, Gabriel Bowman."

Sara laughed again. To Ian it sounded like the first robin's song of spring or the tinkling of bells on Christmas Eve. He wanted to revel in the beauty of it, but he couldn't. He had to communicate to her how much danger she was in. "This is not a laughing matter, Sara," Ian said a little harshly. "He intends to lead you astray."

"You're wrong, Nottingham," she said. "He doesn't intend to lead me anywhere."

"He lead you here," Ian said innocently.

"You're just jealous because I choose to spend time with him," Sara said, just a little spitefully.

"You're right. I long to share myself with you the way he does." Sara got a cold chill flying down her spine. The logical, reasoning part of her that said 'run from this man, he's insane' was drowning out the small part of her that felt safe. "But that does not change the fact that he is feeding you lies."

"And what lies would those be?"

"By giving you information about the Witchblade he has convinced you that you no longer need my master."

"Newsflash, I don't."

"You don't know what you're saying," Ian said desperately.

"From the moment I met your master he has tried to manipulate me and the Witchblade. From the moment I met Gabriel he was willing to risk retribution from you to help me. Think about it Nottingham, who would you rather trust?"

"Sara, I beg you, for your sake as well as his."

She had been refusing to look towards the dark man in the shadows, hoping he would eventually realize she did not want to talk to him. Unfortunately, Ian would not be detoured by such subtle signals. But Sara threw those scruples aside, she turned and looked at him with a veil of dread shading her eyes. "What do you mean?" She demanded.

"I cannot have him interfering in your relationship with my master."

"If you touch a hair on his head . . ." Sara warned, not bothering to hide her anger. 

"It doesn't have to be that way," Ian insisted. "Come back to my master now, with me. We can leave the boy in peace."

"No," Sara said. "You can go back to your master and tell him that if he wants me to stay away from Gabriel he'll have to kill me."

"Or kill Gabriel."

"No. Because if he did that I would hunt him down and repay an eye for an eye, a hand for a hand, a heart for a heart."

"I would have to stop you," Ian said, very sadly.

"You really think you would be able to?" 

Nottingham looked at her, the one woman he truly loved, the one woman who he wanted to love him back. He wouldn't be able to.

"Go Ian," Sara ordered.

And he obeyed.

  
  


To be continued (in a little while, I've got to go to a funeral) . . .


	5. Picayune

Chapter Five: Picayune

Gabriel ran up to Phillis, his heart in his throat his hands sweating, his mind grasping for something to say. But when she looked up at him, with those brown eyes like artesian well, he knew exactly what to say.

"It makes a difference," Gabriel said looking her right in the eyes.

"What?" she asked softly.

"It makes a difference, when you go."

She smiled at him, and laughed, and turned her head away. She had never smiled at him and laughed and turned her head away during her high school days. That was a flirtatious ploy she used often back then, but she had never used it on him. Now that she was he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted her to.

But she didn't turn back to him with her giggly facade, her eyes were serious and her voice was solid. "I'm sorry about last night," she said. "I asked Jim not to do that."

"Jim? Your boyfriend?"

She nodded.

"Where's Jim today?" Gabriel asked. She couldn't tell by the sound of his voice if he was eager or afraid of the answer.

"Gone, for the day." She replied. "He had to work."

"Where's he work?"

"In Poughkeepsie," she said evasively. "That's where we live." She didn't tell him that he was a local hero: the star player on the Poughkeepsie Raiders, A major league La Cross team which had an exposition game on this fine April day. She didn't tell him that they had toured Europe and America together with his team and she didn't tell him that she knew first hand that a La Cross bat could easily break your bones if it was swung with enough force.

Gabriel nodded, accepting what she told him, and what she didn't. "Poughkeepsie, I hear it has a nice, um, river."

"The Hudson," Phillis supplied. "Same one that flows through New York."

"Right."

There was a moment of awkward silence and then finally, "Gabriel, I miss you so much."

He looked up at her, almost disbelieving.

"After we fought I convinced myself that it was for the best. That you were just bitter, and jealous."

"I was," Gabriel admitted softly. "I'm sorry."

"No," Phillis said fondly, reaching up and tracing his jaw line with her thumb, as if she were a sculptor and he was a masterpiece. Gabriel couldn't help but smile at this elegant showing of affection, but still, it felt somehow wrong, sudden, misplaced. "You were an angel trying to save me from hell," Phillis continued. "And I just pushed you away. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Gabe said earnestly. "I should have kept trying."

"Please," she said, almost crying and almost laughing, "Please don't ask for my forgiveness."

"Why? Wouldn't you forgive me?"

She shook her head and looked away, "I don't deserve too."

Gabriel considered, for a moment, telling her that she was the most wonderful human being he had ever met and that, morally and spiritually, he believed her to be his superior, no matter the stupid mistakes she had made in the past. This may have been true, but it was hardly what she wanted or needed to hear at the time. He knew she would dismiss it as flattery, and he knew that to someone so beautiful and sweet, flattery was cheap and hollow. He wanted to give her something solid, something of worth.

"Well then, ah, lets just call it even," he said, craning his head so he could look her in the eye. "No harm, no foul."

She nodded, tears of shame or joy were welling in her eyes. Suddenly, Gabriel found himself in a strong, heartfelt embrace, which he returned without hesitation. This was good, this was right, this was the way it should always have been.

* * *

They were invited to lunch at the Avalla house. Gabriel did not ask his mother for permission to go, but rather, told her they would be going. Yet another chance to talk to Rev. Dunn, gone. But Sara's own spiritual inquires were far less important than keeping an eye on Gabriel. Plus, she would be able to learn more about Phillis, a prospect which she found very appealing.

They walked to the same rowhouse like apartments they had visited last night, but instead of a violent, possessive boyfriend sending them away at the door, they were welcomed in by Mr. Avalla.

A Chicano, he had the same dark hair and eyes as his daughter, but his skin was a few shades darker and his accent was as heavy as the smell of pipe tobacco that filled the small apartment. His hands were large and rough, he was a carpenter, Gabriel had explained on the way over. He lived totally on the small fees he charged for making or repairing all things wooden. He didn't have a little storefront in the town square, or even a small workroom on the small strip of businesses at the edge of town. He worked out of his home, coming to whomever called and excepting whatever they gave him. She could tell by the fine craftsmanship of the numerous hand made pieces of wooden furniture throughout his house that he was more than a craftsman, he was an artisan. In a just world he would not be living in this hovel, Sara thought, he obviously had the skill and the dedication to be successful, but she had seen this story a thousandfold in New York. Anyone with a Spanish accent was considered a lesser citizen and rarely were they given a chance. She knew that, in a small town like this, the prejudice towards the immigrant would be prodigious, unsurmountable, and heartbreaking.

Still, he accepted them with an openness and generosity equal to Gabriel's own family, exceeding it even, considering how little Jaime had to be generous with.

"Gabriel," he said, embracing the boy affectionately.

"Hello Mr. Avalla," Gabe said, obviously uncertain how to respond to this outpouring of affection.

"Don't be so formal, we are both men now, call me Jaime."

Having been released from the hug, Gabriel looked at his host awkwardly, "I don't think I can."

Jaime only nodded, good naturedly, and smiled. "And who is this lovely flower you have brought into my house?"

"Mr. Avalla, this is my friend, Sara Pezzini."

"It's nice to meet you sir," Sara said, extending her hand, which was quickly wrapped in his strong, warm handshake.

"You must call me Jaime," Mr. Avalla said looking her directly in the eye. "For Gabriel I will always be his friend's father, but you and I, we can just be friends."

"I'd like that, Jaime," Sara said. As alien as the oak diningroom had been to Sara, the Avalla's dinning room/kitchen was warm and comfortable. Crowded with images and icons of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the Sacred heart, and a score of other religious figures, as well as scores of pictures of Jaime and Phillis and some boy who must have been her brother, this place felt like a home, a place where people lived.

"This meal was supposed to be for Sunday," Jaime said as he, with Phillis's help, brought out the first dish, a sort of glazed mango-cranberry dish served cold. Had someone explained it to her, she would have declined trying it, but once she had taken a tentative bite, she was hooked.

"You shouldn't tell them that Papa," Phillis said. Sara noticed that, when she was around him, her normally unaccented voice had a distinctive Hispanic drawl.

"I am not a rich man," Jaime continued. "And I can not afford to feast often . . ."

"Papa stop," Phillis ordered, obviously embarrassed.

"But I am glad to share this with you," he said, totally ignoring his daughter's pleas. "For you are far better company than our other guest."

"You shouldn't say that Papa," Phillis's embarrassment had turned to anger.

"When was the last time Gabriel sent you to the hospital?" Jaime demanded. Phillis' eyes shot betrayed glances at her father, then quickly looked at her hands. Gabriel and Sara were too shocked by the old man's bluntness to do anything other than stare at him, then glance at her, then stare at him again. Jaime didn't seem to mind. There was a heavy silence in the room for nearly a minute before Phillis stood up, "I think it's time for the main corse," she said as she gathered everyone's bowls. Once she was in the kitchen, Jaime leaned forward, towards Gabriel who was sitting across from him on the small circular table. "You were always my first choice for her," Jaime said. "If the good Lord had granted me my wish, she would have chosen you."

"Same here," Gabriel said sadly.

A wise old smile slowly spread across the older man's face as hope filled out the edges of his eyes, "Then perhaps it is not too late."

Gabriel was going to ask too late for what? But before he got the words out, Phillis again entered the room with a large plate of tortillas in one hand and a baked chicken garnished with an array of peppers in the other.

"This is my father's own recipe," she said. 

"You can't buy Mexican food here," he explained to Sara, who looked at the dish bewildered, "So I had to make up my own way of cooking." He laughed, heartily, as he showed Sara (Gabriel and Phillis already knew) how to pull the meat off the bones of the chicken and then wrap it in a tortilla along with the peppers and onions that garnished it. Sara had never had anything like it and, like the fruit dish, it was good.

The topic of discussion at the table turned light, they talked about Sara and what she did as a New York cop, they talked about Gabriel and what he did too. She was surprised to find that he told Mr. Avalla the truth about his business, that the articles in his warehouse were more than just antiques.

Jaime talked about how he had come to America, saving his money and flying over the border instead of crossing it illegally. Unfortunately, he had flown into Albany, New York instead of into the city itself (he hadn't realized that their was a state outside the city) so he had spent the rest of his life in upstate New York, making a better living than most of the people he knew in that immigrant crowded city. Phillis sat and listened, she told no tales.

***

Ian watched as Gabriel and Sara walked back to the boy's family home. It was almost four, high afternoon, and the sun shone everywhere in that clean town without alleys or shadows. He followed them, as closely as he dared, but far too far away to hear their conversation. He watched the way they walked and marveled at it. They strolled, slowly, without a strict determination or obvious purpose. They talked, he could tell that much even though he could not hear what they said, and they even laughed at times. Sometimes she would look at him, and he would look at her, but not all the time; often their gazes drifted. And then, twice, she put her hand, her perfect hand, the one that was honored to wear the Witchblade and wield a power second to none, on his small, unimportant shoulder and he thought nothing of it.

Ian had seen these kinds of interactions his entire life, it was what humans, well, natural humans, did. But he had never experienced it, and as Ian watched he realized that, no matter what the Witchblade had in store for him or Sara Pezzini, it was not going to allow him such simple pleasures. He wasn't enough of a person, Ian realized, to sustain that kind of a relationship. For that kind of relationship the two parties had to be equal, they had to need each other equally. The only relationships he had ever been in was total dependance, where he needed the other, Kenneth Irons, Sara Pezzini, totally; or of total ambivalence, such as his relationships with the whores who would bed him. 

But as these thoughts streamed through his consciousness, Ian could not overcome the overwhelming sense of guilt he felt. He was not meant to love Sara Pezzini, that's not why he was brought to live. He was meant to protect Kenneth Irons. Granted Irons had charged him with watching Sara Pezzini, but he had not charged him with loving her. He wondered what his master would do if he knew, fully knew, the extent of Ian's devotion to Sara. He wondered if he truly knew the extent of his devotion to her. He knew that if the choice needed to be made, between Irons and Pezzini, he would not be able to make it. Worse yet, he was afraid he might chose Sara. No matter his choice, he would have to die. He would not be able to live with either decision.

With a sigh he watched as Sara entered the warm, well lit Bowman house: a warm well lit world. A world that Ian would never be able to enter.

***

Sara never really had any girl friends. Maybe it came from being raised by her father or maybe it came from her natural aggressiveness, but she had always been more comfortable around boys. And yet, when she meet Chastity Bowman she felt an instant bond.

Chase was so much like her brother it was eerie, the same morbid sense of humor, the same way of smiling, the same comprehensive yet erratic knowledge base. She knew everything about New York city politics and crime, and she even had some interesting stories They talked, about everything, for hours. Sara was so engrossed in the discussion that she almost missed when Gabriel said goodnight to the both of them and headed off to Mike and Anna's. She would have, in fact, if Chastity hadn't informed her, "Gabriel's leaving, wanna say goodbye?" 

"He's leaving?" 

"Yeah," she said. "Mike and Anna want to bed early, I guess." 

"Ahh," Sara stuttered. She didn't want to leave him alone, unguarded, with Ian out there, a very real threat, not to mention the uncertainty of her vision. 

"I need to talk to him real quick." 

"Don't worry," Chastity said, smiling, "I can wait." 

Sara practically jumped out of her solid oak dinning room chair and all but tore through the living room to the entryway where Gabe was helping Mary put on her jacket. "Gabriel, we need to talk." 

"Hey Chief maybe you can answer a question for me," he said, smiling at her in a way that communicated the next thing he said would be a great joke. "Why is it that all my friends like my sister?" 

"I'm serious Gabriel," Sara said, not quite hiding her smile. "You have to be careful tonight." 

"Why?" Gabe said, almost laughing at the suggestion. 

"Just promise me you'll be very careful, never going out alone, staying inside, all the doors and windows locked." 

"What brought on this bout of paranoia?" Gabriel asked, less afraid than annoyed. 

"All I want is a promise." 

"Pez no," Gabe said. "I'm not gonna turn myself into a caged animal without a good reason." 

"Just while it's dark," Sara pleaded. 

"No." 

His persistence made no sense, why would he be so determined to not do the simple things she asked of him. Then she realized, someone, a thousand times more important than her, had a prior claim. "You're gonna meet Phil." 

"Gabriel," Anna interrupted, touching her brother-in-law gently on the shoulder. "Mary has to get to bed." 

"Sorry, I'll be a sec," Gabe said to her, and then, picking up Mary, he turned to Sara. "I'll be careful." 

"You don't understand," Sara said, her voice tense. 

"Then you're gonna have to explain it to me," he said. 

It was a challenge, would she tell him why she was suddenly paranoid, would she risk sounding totally insane in front of his family, would she admit to visions and clairvoyance, would she betray Ian's intentions, which were good . . . all he wanted to do was protect her. "Please trust me," Sara said, knowing it was a poor explanation. 

"Gabriel!" Mike's voice boomed from outside. 

Gabe glanced over his shoulder and smiled at his friend, sadly, before turning his back on her. "Sorry Pez, I will be careful." 

Sara was left standing in the brightly lit house, watching the figures moving through the darkness, walking home. She felt a sickly sweet sickness in the pit of her stomach, as if she hadn't eaten in days and just drank a large cup of apple juice. It was the same feeling that had filled her stomach as she saw Danny lying helpless on the floor, and then, only months later, Conchabar in the same position. "Not this time," she promised herself softly. "No matter what, not this time."

To be continued . . .


	6. Hinderance

Chapter 6: Hindrance

It wasn't a particularly clever play on words, although when they were freshman in high school they had considered it such. Their joint, that place where they could always meet in the middle of the night, where they could go after she came under his window and woke him up with the tinkling of deftly thrown pebbles. It was called their joint because it was the place they had, once, actually smoked one. 

They were freshman, it was homecoming. In Coppler's Grove everyone went to homecoming, not going was unthinkable, regardless of whether or not one had a date. Gabriel didn't, Phillis did. He was a junior, a guard on the basketball team, and generally known as a total sleazebag. But that never seemed to matter to Phillis. She had come to Gabriel, standing on the edge of the dance floor, too shy to even approach the wallflowers, only an hour into the dance. She was crying.

"Phil," Gabriel had said softly, allowing her to fall, sobbing into his compassionate embrace. "What happened?"

"Don't even ask," she said resting her head on his shoulder. Her makeup, a mess of light-colored powders and glitter worked its way through her tears into the shoulder of his tux, but he didn't mind. He just held her and rocked her and stroked her hair while she cried. It wasn't that long - ten, fifteen seconds tops - but every time Gabriel remembered it the moment seemed to stretch for all eternity, like a picture in Sara's metaphysics scrapbook.

When Phillis had assured herself that Gabriel was there for her, and he was safe, she pulled away. "I wanna go," she said softly. "Please go with me."

"Of course," Gabriel answered as he reached into the deep pockets of his ill fitting tux and pulled out a large handkerchief. He gave it to her, and she accepted it gracefully. She managed to wipe off most of the cheap mascara and spread the glitter that remained on her cheeks around so that she looked almost like new. It didn't matter to Gabriel, she couldn't not be beautiful.

As they were walking out, as inconspicuously as possible (although neither of them had any doubt that the entire school knew they were leaving) Gracie pulled Gabriel aside for a moment. 

"You're too nice to her," Gracie said. Gabe could smell alcohol on her breath and her eyes had a sort of wild, unfocused gleam that came with 'mind expanding' drugs. Perhaps that is why he never took what she said next to heart. "Why the hell would she chose you when you're there no matter what choice she makes?"

"You're gonna be kicked out," Gabriel warned. "As soon as Mr. Hacklin over there sees . . ."

"Oh," Gracie winced, not far gone enough to boldly dismiss his warning. "Then you'd better take the incriminating evidence." She reached into her little hand bag, pulled out one neatly wrapped joint and slipped it into his pocket. "Now you two can redeem what's left of the evening."

"Gracie," Gabriel hissed angrily. He was not about to giver her the joint back because he knew that she would get caught, and she would be in a lot more trouble if she had the drugs in her possession. But he didn't want it to be in his possession either.

Her only response to his mild protest was a sisterly kiss on the cheek, "Have a good time bro," she said, and then turned back to her friends who undoubtably had enough contraband on their persons to more than make up for her small loss.

Gabriel led Phillis out of the gym where the dance was being held and for a long time they walked around outside in silence. Finally, when they reached the baseball field on the far end of campus, the small one that was only used for P.E. and not very well kept. There were spirts of tough brownish green grass invading the base path and a nice little grove of clover spreading behind home plate. It was on the clover they sat on that slightly chilled October night. They talked for hours and hours about everything except what had happened that night. Phillis taught Gabriel how to smoke the joint and their conversations became more philosophical and less logical. He got her home around three a.m. and crawled into his bed by three thirty. He had missed Gracie, high as a kite, being brought home by the police at 1:30 and the hour long lecture she had received, even though she was in no state to really comprehend and consider what her parents were saying. 

That was not the best night of Gabriel's life, but it was up there. And he assumed Phillis felt the same way, because all through highschool that little spot of clover had been their joint; their own little corner of the world.

And on that spot of clover that had somehow made it through the years was where Gabriel stood late Saturday night, waiting. He wasn't afraid that she might not come, that never entered his mind. He was concerned, however, about Sara's warning. He doubted she would have cautioned him without reason, but this was Coppler's Grove, he could not conceive a possible threat. The thought of the dark shadow which had silently followed him from the large colonial to the smaller bungalow down the street and then, well after midnight, to the shabby baseball diamond. Both Gabriel and his shadow were waiting. Gabriel's wait was shorter.

"Phil!" He said excitedly as the lovely girl came running up to him. This is what he'd dreamed of, what he'd fantasized about, for the past three years. The joy in her eyes, the smile on her face, the way she slipped her arms around his neck to hug him, it was perfect. Then it got better.

Without a word of explanation or warning, Phillis leaned forward and kissed him. But it wasn't her usual platonic pat on the cheek or forehead, it was a real kiss, bold and engaging and fully on the lips.

Though Gabriel had kissed girls in the past, it had never been anything like this. She tasted sweet and strong, like mulled wine; he felt like he was drunk. Her heartbeat pounded in his ears and her fingers, which played with the small cowlick of black hair on the nape of his neck, occupied his consciousness, her melodies haunted his mind's ear.

When she finally pulled away from him he was breathless and dumbfounded, he had so much he had wanted to tell her but it was all gone, lost in the gentle caress of her lips. All he could think to say was, "Hi Phil."

"Hi Gabriel," she said back, her smile broad and genuine and simply joyful.

"I'm glad you showed," he said, understating his true feelings masterfully. 

She smiled at him, her dark brown eyes meeting his light brown ones, her hands playing with little wisps of his unruly hair. They stood there, absorbed by the mere presence of each other for a moment before she said, "Do you wanna kiss me again?"

"Yes," Gabriel said with an unquivering voice.

"Good," she said, leaning forward, their lips meeting again. But this time Gabriel was not surprised, so while he reveled in the moment, his mind couldn't help contemplating the implications. This time, Gabriel pulled away.

"What?" Phillis asked, too enchanted with him to be worried.

"This isn't right," he said. Those were the hardest three words to say he could ever remember escaping his lips. 

"I don't get it," Phillis stuttered. "Isn't this what you always wanted? Isn't this what should have happened a long time ago?"

Gabriel reached up and touched her perfect face. "It looks a lot like it," Gabriel said, wondering if he was killing all his dreams of a happily-ever-after with Phillis. "And it feels a lot like it, but you and I both know this is not right."

"This is the first right thing I've ever done," she insisted.

"What about Jim," Gabriel accused. 

"He was not right," Phillis said with a passion. "He was very very wrong."

"Was, or is?"

Phillis didn't have anything to say to that, she just stood their her mouth opened. It hurt Gabriel to see her that way, almost as much as it hurt Phillis to be that way. He wanted, as much as she did, for those kisses to be pure, but they weren't, and they couldn't be until she went through a lot more pain.

"I'm sorry," Gabriel said softly. "I love you, I really do . . ."

"I love you too," she insisted fervently.

"Then you understand," he said softly, his hand's brushing her cheeks as if to wipe away tears. 

She nodded, "I am so frightened."

"I'll protect you," he promised her, "But you still have to end it, yourself."

"End what?" a voice boomed from the shadows behind them. Phillis recognized the voice immediately and coiled behind Gabriel, suddenly terrified, while Gabe, confused and startled, tried to stand bravely and fulfill his promise. 

The man who had sent Gabriel away from the Avalla house the night before sauntered onto the base ball diamond. He was easily a head taller than Gabriel, with arms twice as thick, and cold, disturbing, blue eyes that looked at the young lovers with cruel hatred and barely controlled rage.

"What's this, Phil?" Jim demanded. "What you think you're doing?"

"Why are you here?" Phillis asked, still hiding behind Gabriel. She was clinging to his arm and, for some odd reason, that gave him unnatural courage.

"We're spending the holiday with your father, remember?" Jim said accusingly. "You so taken with this new guy you forgot I was coming back?"

"Jim no," she said, her voice was trembling.

"You think you could hide an affair in a town like this?"

"This isn't an affair," Gabriel said in as forceful a voice as he could muster.

"Right, I find my girl in the arms of her best friend in high school in the middle of the night and . . ."

"She's not your girl!" Gabriel said forcefully.

"So she's what, yours?" Jim said taking a forceful step forward.

"No," Phillis said, bravely stepping out from behind Gabriel and walking slowly and deliberately towards Jim. "I'm my own girl," she said, her voice trembling. "Jim, you've had me for far too long. You had my spirit and my dreams and my hope and my courage locked up in this cage of fear you created. Everything that was mine you took because you were afraid I'd realize what a bastard you were and leave you. Well right now I'm high on borrowed courage and so no matter what I lose, I'm leaving you. I want you the hell out of this town before sunrise."

Jim looked at her, his icy eyes held no anger, no fear, no sorrow, only violent disgust. "Bitch," he spat at her dryly, before slapping her with enough force to send her tumbling to her knees.

"Hey!" Gabriel said, making good on his promise to protect her despite his opponents larger size.

"You gonna stand up for this whore?" Jim asked. 

"Yeah," Gabriel said defiantly. "I am."

"I could kill you."

"So," Gabriel asked. "This isn't the middle ages, might doesn't make right."

"I can't believe you want to defend this good for nothin' whore. Wha'd she do, promise you you'd be next?"

"Get out," Gabriel said, a rage of his own building up in his chest. He was certainly not beyond physical violence if he felt he was justified, and he had never felt more justified than at that moment.

"Leave her alone," Gabe said forcefully. "Go and don't you dare come back."

"You're threatening me?" Jim asked, laughing. "Do you know who I am?"

"The biggest jackass in New England?" Gabe guessed.

"You know what, to hell with you, both of you," Jim said, turning around angrily and storming away. Gabriel and Phillis watched for a moment before they turned and looked at each other. They were both a little shaken and a little surprised. It seemed too easy, too anti-climatic. Phillis walked back to where Gabriel was standing, her rock and fortress, and slipped her hand into his, resting her shoulder on his, like she had years ago during their first home coming.

"You're my rock," she said softly.

Gabriel accepted the complement silently, resting his head on hers and softly stroking her hair. 

They stood there, in a perfect, heaven-like, peace for nearly a minute and then all hell broke lose.

"The hell you're breaking up with me, Bitch," Jim yelled, all his cool was lost as he ran towards them, a baseball bat in hand. 

Gabriel and Phillis hardly had time to brace themselves for the attack, he had come out of nowhere, with no warning. They followed their instincts, turning and running away, never letting go of the other's hand. But they had forgotten the fence that stood behind them, protecting the spectators behind home plate from foul balls. The split second it took for them to realize that direction held no escape proved crucial, before they could turn and run another direction Jim was on them. Phillis didn't really see it happen, all she knew was that there was a hollow sounding thud right next to her and then a crash, as something hit the fence. She didn't realize he was no longer holding her hand until she turned her head and saw Gabriel lying in the dirt unmoving, blood gushing out of his right temple. 

Phillis ran to him, totally forgetting about Jim and the threat he still posed. She picked up Gabriel's head, getting his blood all over herself in the process, and pushed her hands on his wound, foolishly trying to stop the blood.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Jim?!" she screeched at him. 

"You will not leave me this way," he yelled back. "You ungrateful bitch, after everything I did . . ."

"You can treat me like shit, Jim," Phillis spat at him. "Really, who the hell cares, right? But you are going down for this." She was crying, but didn't notice. "Do you know who he is? His dad's the biggest lawyer in town, his grandfather's the goddamn preacher. You're not gonna charm your way outta this, you're gonna go down."

Jim glanced around, nervous, for the first time that night it occurred to him that his actions might have consequences. He was no longer in Poughkeepsie, where he was a local hero and he was no longer sure that Phillis would be to cowardly to tell anyone. He was no longer sure of anything, so to combat his uncertainty, he took control.

"We're going," he said, grabbing Phillis roughly by the arm and hauling her away from Gabriel, who was starting to show signs of regaining consciousness.

"No," Phil shrieked, struggling to stay on the ground with Gabe.

"You goddamn bitch!" Jim yelled, "You're gonna do whatever the hell I say."

"No she's not," a slurred voice said. With far more effort than seemed reasonable, he managed to find his way to his knees as Phil watched with renewed hope and Jim with renewed disgust. 

"I can't believe it," Jim muttered. 

"Le'her go," Gabe said, slightly more understandably. Blood was streaming down the side of his face and, while he had found his knees, he couldn't seem to find a center of balance steady enough to find his feet.

All of Jim's worse instincts, that part of him that needed to feel bigger and better than everyone around him, seemed to possess him. He let go of Phillis and took a dominating step towards the brave but helpless Gabriel with a wicked smile on his face. 

* * *

Sara woke up with a start and almost fell out of the old directors chair she had dozed off in. She had had a dream of battle, of fighting men with muskets and red coats. She could still smell the blood soaked battle field and the slight fragrance of gunpowder. She sat bolt up, gasping for breath and praying the gore she had dreamt would quickly slip out of her mind.

"You've gotta go, Sara," Danny said in his soft and measured voice. He was standing in front of her, with the little green stars floating behind him. He had never looked more angelic, Sara thought.

"Go," she said, her voice still edgy from the dream, or memory. "Go where?"

"To save Gabriel," Danny said. "Those who would can't and those who could won't."

"Gabriel," Sara breathed. Suddenly, the Witchblade gave her a quick slide show of her friend. He was standing, waiting, then he and Phillis were kissing, passionately, and then he was standing off with the brute who was obviously Phillis's boyfriend, then he was lying on the ground bleeding from a horrific head wound and then there was a bright flash and the deafening sound of a gun shot. When her vision was over, Sara didn't notice if Danny was still standing around to give her advice, she didn't notice that she wasn't wearing any shoes, she didn't even notice that the Witchblade had activated. Sara, relying solely on instinct, jumped out of Gabriel's window and practically flew down the maple. She didn't know where she was running, she just knew she had to save Gabriel, and she knew that if she stopped running she would lose time, and, consequently, Gabriel. Every second was one of Gabriel's heartbeats and she just couldn't run fast enough.

Before she noticed which direction she was running she had found her way across town onto the school yard, but once she was there her instinct faltered. Jogging to a stop she looked around at the tennis courts, the well kept baseball diamond, the football field with a track spread around it. 

"Gabriel!" Sara yelled desperately because, without the Witchblade's guidance, she didn't have a clue where to look.

"It was meant to be, Sara," Ian's dark, rich voice said.

Sara turned around with a start, "Damn you Nottingham!" she said, "Where is Gabriel?"

"I have not laid a finger on him, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm asking where he is," Sara said, her voice was starting to tremble. "If you know, you had better tell me or else I swear on all things holy . . ."

"I won't lie to you Sara, he is in mortal danger," Ian said calmly.

"Where is he?!"

"Have you considered that, maybe, this is the way the Witchblade is removing him from your life?"

"You are an evil psycho bastard," Sara yelled out of sheer frustration.

Her irrational outburst seemed to slip off of Ian like oil off of water, possibly because he saw it for what it was, the words of a frightened, desperate woman. Or perhaps he didn't react because he knew it was true. "He was a barrier, keeping you from your destiny."

"He is a person!"

"I am truly sorry for the pain his death will cause you but it is for the best."

"No," Sara said, her fear and anxiety building into rage. "If he dies you will die. The second his heart stops I with take this Witchblade and stab it into your heart, the moment he stops breathing I will cut out your lungs . . ."

"My death is inconsequential."

"And then I'll go after your master, so help me god."

Ian looked at her. She was deadly serious. He started tasting the same bitter hollow fear for one he loved that Sara had been tasting all day. _My purpose_, he thought, _Is first to protect my master and second to do his will._ Sara was telling the truth, he knew, even if that man with the baseball bat was the one to kill Gabriel, she would blame him because he didn't stop it. Ian made a very difficult decision.

"They are on a baseball field," He said softly. "Two hundred yards north-northeast."

Sara stared at him, surprised by his cooperation and slightly confused by his directions. Ian bowed his head, stepped aside and pointed the correct direction. Sara didn't say thank you, she didn't have time, she just turned and ran.

To be continued . . .


	7. Synchronous

Chapter 7: Synchronous

Gabriel was on his hands and knees. Looking at it, from a far, it seemed like a very humbling position, as if he were begging for mercy. That was exactly as Jim, who was lording over him with the bat slung over his shoulder, saw and what Phillis, who was sobbing uncontrollably, saw. But for Gabriel, his position on his hands and knees was pure act of will motivated by pride. His head pounded, there was more pain than his brain knew how to handle so all coherent thought was drummed out of his mind, he just knew he had to stand. But as he tried to find his feet, forcing away the dark haze that was invading the edges of his vision, the earth seemed to tilt underneath him, like the deck of a ship during a storm. His head swam every time he tried to push himself onto his knees and even with most of his weight on his hands he couldn't quite shake the sensation of nausea. 

"You see what happens," Jim said loudly. His voice echoed and boomed inside of Gabriel's head so that the words were indistinguishable but the sound just seemed to increase the already overwhelming pain. "You should never steal another man's girl! That is the lowest act any man could ever do.

"In fact," Jim continued as he reached behind his back and pulled a small revolver from his belt, aimed it right at the stunned Gabriel's head. Phillis screamed, Gabe didn't even notice. "Some would say stealing another guy's girl is a mortal offence."

"Those some would be called criminally insane," the clear angry voice of Sara Pezzini sliced through the night like a sharp sword through soft flesh.

"Who the hell?" Jim asked, bewildered by the unexpected fourth party. "Get out of here!"

"Leave him alone," Sara said firmly. "And leave her alone."

"What?"

"Go," Sara said clearly. "And if you ever try to . . ."

"Who the hell are you!?" Jim said swinging the gun away from Gabriel's head and towards her. 

Sara took a deep breath, this was exactly what she wanted, she could defend herself against this neanderthal, Gabriel and Phillis, on the other hand, could not. She took another step forward. "Give me your gun and I'll let you go."

"Screw you psycho bitch," Jim said casually as he fired the gun. Phillis screamed again and the sound caused enough pain in Gabriel's head to over come his will and he collapsed into unconsciousness. 

The bullet didn't even affect Sara, it ricocheted harmlessly off of the Witchblade, she took another aggressive step forward. "You shouldn't have done that," she said, the warning clear in her voice. "Put the gun on the ground and submit yourself to arrest and you won't be hurt."

Jim was frightened, Sara could see it in his eyes. He had seen the bullet graze off of her Witchblade but he didn't understand it. Panicked, he fired two more rapid shots, hoping to catch her off guard. Again, there were sparks as mettle met mettle but Sara didn't even slow down. Desperately, Jim dropped the gun and picked up his disregarded baseball bat. He charged Sara, madly, and with little more than a flick of her wrist the Witchblade split the wooden bat in two. Stunned and confused, Jim staggered backwards and fell on his ass next to where Gabriel was lying. Realizing that he would never be able to defeat Sara, Jim did the one thing he could to regain control over the situation, he grabbed at his gun and pointed it directly at the unconscious pile besides him. "Back off Bitch!" Jim screamed. "I was ready to blow him away before I swear I will now!"

Sara's heart stopped. The Witchbade retracted, without her having to command it, as she lifted her hands in the classic defenseless pose. "You're already going down for assault and battery, do you really want to add murder to your list?"

"I don't know what the hell you are, just back off!" Jim screamed frantically. "I swear . . ." 

"Just put the gun down."

"No!"

"Jim!" Phillis screamed, tears were still streaming down her face and, even though she didn't say it, their was obviously one thing on her mind - _don't kill him_.

Sara had almost forgotten about Phillis, and Jim, apparently, had, because as soon as she made herself known his demeanor changed. Whatever wheeling and dealing Sara might have been able to talk him into was long gone. At this point all he wanted was pure, unadulterated revenge.

"Screw it all," he said casually and then time seemed to stop.

Sara saw, with painful clarity, Jim's finger begin to squeeze the trigger. There seemed to be an eternity where, in any normal situation, she should have been able to charge the man who was going to kill her friend, wrestle the gun out of his hands, throw him on the ground and cuff him. But she was frozen, painfully helpless, watching the only friend she had left, the only person she felt she could trust, be callously and senselessly killed. Sara felt as if her heart was slowly but violently being ripped apart during that horrifically eternal second.

There was a bang, somehow more distant than she expected it, that echoed through the hollow recesses of this odd time. But very quickly she realized that the bullet did not signify Gabriel's death, no, Jim was still pulling the trigger with agonizing sloth. But before Sara could really understand the significance of this fact, a bullet flew just over her shoulder, creating a wind that stirred her dark mahogany locks and a whistle that sung in her right ear. Her eyes followed the silver projectile, amazed. She was so entranced that she didn't think to look away as it penetrated Jim's chest and tore its way through his heart.

Time started again.

Sara, still shocked by the last few seconds, blinked. What she saw could not have possibly happened, it was impossible. No one would be able to accurately aim over her shoulder and make such a precise hit. But then again, no one would ever be able to instantly kill two men with one bullet from a hundred stories above.

Without another second of hesitation she ran over to Gabriel, carefully lifting his head off of the now blood soaked dirt around home plate and cradling it in her lap. "Gabriel," Sara said desperately, trying to wipe the blood and dirt off his face and only succeeding in getting her own hands filthy with the red tinted sand.

"What happened?" Phillis whispered as she crawled over to the two still bodies between which Sara was sitting. The younger girl's voice was undoubtably horse from crying and she was shaking all over. 

"You shot him, Sara Pezzini," Ian Nottingham said, his voice darker than the night around them. As he emerged from the shadows of the outfield a chill flew down Sara's spine, although she could not conceive why.

"No, Nottingham, you shot him."

"It was justified," Ian said, throwing Sara's words back at her with an almost playful grin. "He was going to kill your friend."

"I didn't say I wasn't thankful," Sara said, a little less accusatory. "I just didn't think . . ."

"You used your gun," Ian said, throwing a revolver on the ground in front of Sara. She recognized it immediately as her standard police issue pistol. 

"How did you get that!" Sara said angrily. She was tempted to stand and challenge Ian directly, but the soft weight of Gabriel's head in her lap curbed all such impulses. "I left that locked up in my apartment!"

"Very careless of you," Ian commented, as if all she'd done was forget her toothpaste. 

"Nottingham!"

"If you really do wish for him to live, Sara, I advise you get him to a doctor," Ian said, before turning and slipping back into the black inky night from which he had emerged.

***

The Rev. Dunn had been a widower for nigh on eighteen years. While Marcy, Gabriel's grandmother, was often his inspiration and almost weekly the subject of a sermon illustration, he had long ago returned to the lifestyle of a bachelor. He kept his own hours, as he said. He slept when he was tired and would only set his alarm clock on Sundays, when he had to be some where early in the morning. Even on Sundays he was so used to getting up at six that he was usually wide awake before it rang. And if he couldn't sleep, even if it were before a large Sunday service, like Easter, he didn't mind. His view was that the Lord knew what he needed, and sometimes he needed to sleep at night while, at other times, he needed to be awake. So, perhaps it was not a lucky coincidence that he was wide awake on Easter morning at three a.m. and had just set a pot of tea to boil.

"Reverend Dunn!" a panicked voice called, it was accompanied by the violent pounding of fists against his back door. "Reverend Dunn, wake up!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" the Rev. shouted back. It was not unusual for people to call on him at all times, although panicked bangs at three a.m. were anything but common. And the voice, while vaguely familiar, was not really known to him. As he unlatched the door he tried to place it: it was a young girls voice, very pretty, probably a singer, but not someone in the church choir, and for some reason it reminded him of Gabriel.

He opened the door, ready to greet whoever this panicked young woman was with open arms and invite her to share a cup of tea with him and tell him whatever she would. He didn't expect to find two women covered in blood with his unconscious, wounded, grandson slumped between them.

"My lord," Dunn breathed.

"You wanna let us in?" Sara demanded, a little shorter than she should have. "We need to call an ambulance."

"Of. . . of course," Dunn finally stuttered, "Please, come in, let me help you."

The old man, even though he was easily twice Sara's age, quickly grabbed his unconscious grandson as if he were, once again, a small child who had fallen asleep in the living room listening to all the grownups talk and needed to be carried off to bed. "I'll take him to the guest bedroom . . ."

"Do you need any help?" Sara asked, surprised by the older man's initiative.

"Yes," The Reverend said solidly. "Phillis call Dr. Sanderson and then call Gabriel's parents, both numbers are posted by the phone in the kitchen." Phillis nodded and scampered into the kitchen. "Miss Pezzini, if you would be so kind as to look in the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom under the stairs, there are any number of clean rags in there. I have a feeling we'll need them all."

"Yes sir," Sara said, making a quick beeline for the door under the stairs. Once she had grabbed as meany rags as she possibly could she burst out of the bathroom and looked around. There was no one to tell her what to do next. But Sara was a detective and she could figure these things out. She went to the front door and followed the trail of Gabriel's blood up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the right.

Gabriel, still unconscious, was stretched out on a bed, his right temple, which still leaked out blood, was pointed up, but regardless, Pez doubted whether the blood stains would ever come out of the white bed spread.

"We need to clean him up," Dunn said with the same quick, clipped efficient tone he had used downstairs. She didn't realize it, but that came of being a Chaplin and an officer in Korea so many years ago.

"I brought the rags," Sara offered, wishing for the world that she had more to offer.

"Thank you," he said with uncalled for courtesy. "I'm going to get the rubbing alcohol," he started to pull himself away from his injured grandson, but Sara could clearly see that that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"I could get it," Sara offered.

"I don't quite know where it is," Dunn said, ruefully. "Besides, the water is boiling . . . It's God's grace that I wanted tea not coffee."

Sara had no idea what the good Reverend was talking about, but she assumed he did, and that was all that really mattered. As he bustled out of the small upper bedroom Sara found herself alone with the unconscious Gabriel and suddenly, as if a damn had burst, thick salty tears started welling up in her eyes. She gasped for breath and control, but while she could gain oxygen she could not find the strength to hold back the tears. Feeling small and helpless, she lowered herself onto the bed next to Gabriel, so that some of her tears mingled with the blood on his face.

Perhaps it was sheer coincidence, or perhaps it was the mystical qualities inherent in the heartfelt tears of a true wielder, but those insignificant splashes on his face seemed to raise Gabriel. 

"Hey Chief," he said, his voice, barely above a whisper, seemed raw and weak but it was enough to shock Sara out of her spiraling grief and she started crying uncontrollably out of pure joy.

"Gabriel!" she said, her voice, squeaking between sobs, made him wince, it was far too loud for his injured brain. "You're alright."

"My head hurts," he said, understating the situation drastically.

"I bet," she laughed as she wiped the tears out of her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"Phil?"

"She's fine, she's safe," Sara assured him. "She's here, if you want to see her . . ." Sara started to get up.

"Nah," Gabe said, casually, as if he didn't want her to trouble herself, not he was terrified of being left alone to slip into the dark cold oblivion from which he had fought so hard to emerge.

Sara smiled at him affectionately, "You're gonna be alright," she promised him. "The doctor is coming."

"Doctor?" Gabriel asked, obviously puzzled.

"For your head."

"Oh," he said softly. "That might be nice."

Sara laughed, a sweet, sad, genuine laugh. Even with a major head injury, he could maintain that quirky wit she found so enduring, even if she rarely found it entertaining. 

***

"I shot him," Sara told the Sheriff. She looked him straight in the eye and lied through her teeth. "With this gun."

"Humm," Sherif Holtz said. It was a deep, low, thoughtful humm, more Andy Griffith than Joe Friday.

"I aimed for the torso instead of one of the appendages because I was afraid I would hit Gabriel."

"Hummm,"

"I didn't mean to kill him."

"No, sweety, I'm sure you didn't."

"Are you sure you don't want to call my commanding officer?" Sara asked. She couldn't depend on Dante for much, but he would have to verify that she was actually NYPD. He would also have to give them her file, which was flawless, and if he started pulling that crap he always pulled on her she would just call Jake or Joe Siri and they would vouch for her as a dedicated and honorable public servant.

"Nah, nah," he said. "Your badge is proof enough for me. I'll have to take this information to Willis but you seem on the up and up and the state the Bowman boy is in, I'm sure he'll push it through without much fuss. Besides, the Avalla girl's testimony matches yours for whatever that's worth."

"Who is Willis?"

"Oh, county Judge, Willis McGill, great guy."

"I'm sure," Sara said, recalling her conversation with Gabriel's grandfather, father and brother. She knew that the rushed, almost non-existent investigation of this killing, was what the Bowmans would consider a perk of small town legal workings. While most of the time Sara would disagree heartily, she had to admit that this time it was reassuring. If a true investigation was held it would reveal that she didn't have blowback on her hands and that there was no way she could have fired the gun because of the angle of the entry wound. Plus there would be questions about how a solid wood baseball bat was slit neatly in half down the center, the long way. She didn't want to answer that question. And what if someone had seen or heard Nottingham: he had saved Gabriel's life, she felt the least she could do to repay him was follow the moderately believable lie he had set up.

"Now, the hearing won't be until Monday, you'll have to stay for that."

"Naturally."

"But as I understand it you're a guest of Bowmans, Tony will put you up real well."

Sara nodded, where was the cynical scepticism, where was the underlining hostility, where was the hard earned apathy? This was not law enforcement as Sara knew it. Any inclinations she had ever harbored in regards to taking the Bowmans up on their offer and becoming 'small town law' were gone.

"Yeah, they're nice," Sara said a little tersely.

"I bet this is a pleasant change from New York."

She wanted to say something like 'yeah, in New York they hold me accountable when I shoot someone' but thought better of it. She just smiled and nodded.

To be continued . . . (you thought it was over didn't you, not by a long shot baby!)


	8. Progression

  
  


(Hey Friendly Reader! Meghan, to whom this story is dedicated, is really getting a kick out of reading all your reviews and so she says that, before I add the next chapter, there needs to be a lot of reviews. She didn't say what a lot was, so you guys'll have to guess on that. I thought, knowing how this particular chapter ends, that her request was just a little mean. Still, it's her story, so I promised her I'd let you know how she feels.)

  
  


Chapter 8: Progression

By six A.M. the Reverend Dunn's house was overflowing with people. Gabriel's mother had come over in a panic, with Chase, who was composed but concerned, and Joy, who was in near hysterics, in tow. Mike came about a half hour later and they all sat, in agonizing suspense in the living room. Jamie and Phillis were held up in a small sunroom where he could comfort his terrified, guilt ridden, grief stricken daughter in peace. Sara had her interview with the sheriff in the Rev.'s study and Gabriel rested, undisturbed, in the guest bedroom upstairs.

So, when Sara came back from showing the Sherif the crime scene, carefully steering him away from the deep impressions Ian's boots had made in the dewy grass, she found herself floating in the large, full house. She didn't want to intrude on the Avalla's, Phillis needed some solace. And she didn't want to sit with the Bowmans, again she felt like she would be invading a very private time. She would have liked to find her way up to the bedroom and sit with Gabriel, but the doctor strictly forbid visitors. He said Gabriel needed 'undisturbed rest.' So Sara wandered into the kitchen, hoping to just sit at the table and think, maybe she would be lucky and Danny would come and talk to her. But when she pushed open the swinging door she discovered she was not the only person who had retreated into the kitchen.

"Ah, Sara," Rev. Dunn said, looking up from his open bible and yellow legal pad covered with notes. "Do you need anything?"

"No," Sara said, uncertainly. "I was just looking for someplace quite to sit and think."

"I see," the older man said, disappointed. "Would you like some tea, while you think?"

"Ah . . . sure?"

The Rev smiled at her, he almost looked grateful. "Why don't you sit down? I'll find you a mug."

"You know, I'm fine," Sara said casually, "I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"I've just been going over my notes for the sermon," Dunn explained as he pushed himself away from the table and walked over to an already steaming tea pot. "You might say I've been divinely inspired. Do you want green tea or," He turned his head to see Sara still standing somewhat uncomfortably in the doorway. "Sit down, please." He ordered, as she moved to obey he turned back to what he was doing. "Black, I have caffeinated and decaffeinated, and I have a pumpkin tea left over from last Thanksgiving, I've never quite plucked up the courage to try it."

"Black, with caffeine would be fine," Sara said, slipping into the worn kitchen chairs. 

"Milk, sugar, honey, lemon?"

"Ah," Sara said, surprised by the vast choices, "Nothing, thanks."

"Simplicity is a blessing," the Rev said, philosophically as he set the steaming cup down in front of her and then placed himself across the table from her, behind the bible and notes. 

"Thank you."

They sat, quietly, for a while before the Rev. gathered the courage to say something, "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you protected Gabriel."

"I couldn't do anything else," Sara said earnestly.

"You could have," he said. "Most people would not have done anything."

Sara shrugged.

"No grater love than this, he, or she I suppose, that lays down her life for her friend."

"That's nice," Sara said softly.

"That's God."

"So God is nice."

"God is love," the Rev. Dunn said. "And apparently, so are you."

Sara laughed bitterly, "I don't think God and I have all that much in common."

The Rev. laughed too, although his chuckle was much more good natured. "I suppose not."

There was a moment of silence and then, suddenly, before she even realized she was making any noise, the question she had hoped to ask him, "What about the disciples?"

"What?"

"Jesus died, right?"

"Yes, and he rose again."

"Yeah, yeah, but he left. It was like he died."

"No," the Rev. said slowly, a tad concerned about the haphazard theology. "It wasn't."

"The point is he wasn't there to protect them, and they all died."

"John died of old age."

"In prison," Sara amended. 

"What are you saying?"

"It's all well and good for Christ to give his life. I mean, he was the son of God, he was special, chosen."

"I understand what you're saying," Dunn said hesitantly. Again, her sloppy theology bothered him, but he thought that, perhaps, this was not the right moment for a lesson in Christology. There were more pressing issues. 

"How could he just leave them like that? How could he lead people into danger and then abandon them?"

"He didn't abandon them . . ."

"Yes he did!" Sara said passionately. "He came down, led all these fishermen and whatever away from their safe homes and then when he did his duty, what he had to do because of who he was, left. He couldn't protect them."

"Maybe they were doing what they had to do."

"What do you mean?" Sara asked. Dunn could see she was asking about herself, not really about Christ, he just wished he knew why.

"Remember, on Friday, I said we all have our cross to bear."

"Yeah,"

"Christ's cross was fairly obvious, but Peter had his own cross, his own fight, his own duty, as did Paul and John and Timothy and every Christian for the last 2000 years."

Sara looked at him, on the verge of understanding.

"There are those who's burden is heavy and who's duty is clear. But you do not walk alone. Some people's duty, their task, their cross, may be helping you with yours."

"I don't . . ." Sara started, but Danny, who was standing behind the Rev. interrupted her.

"You have to help the world, Sara," Danny explained. "That doesn't mean other people don't have to help you."

Sara sighed and shook her head, "You know, I really don't want to talk about this. I thought I did but, maybe . . ." Her voice trailed into indecision.

"Do you mind telling me what burden you bear that is so heavy?"

Sara shrugged, "I'm speaking hypothetically."

"I'm old, but I can still see."

"I don't . . ."

"You can trust me."

"You can trust him," Danny said. "You should trust him."

"Fine," Sara said, a little angrily. She didn't want to trust anyone. The Witchblade was her gift, her duty, her burden, her cross. She didn't mind being crucified, so long as she didn't take anyone down with her.

"As a cop, in New York," she said tentatively, "I make an awful lot of enemies. And, ah, I'm not . . . diplomatic."

"You do what you think it is right?"

"I don't play the game."

"And you feel it puts you in danger?"

"I'm not afraid for me," Sara said, almost laughing at the sheer lunacy of it. "I'm afraid for Gabriel, and my doofus rookie partner Jake, and anyone else I come in contact with." She looked up at Danny, tears were starting to congregate in her eyes. "It seems like the moment I start caring about someone, the moment I . . ." Her voice trailed of, she couldn't even say the word. "I'm starting to think it's too big a risk."

"But what about the people who love you?" the Rev. asked. Although Sara didn't realize it, it was a fairly common problem. She didn't realize that people with far less responsibility than she felt as guilty as she did when they saw someone come up besides them and choose to walk the same path.

"What about them?"

"Gabriel is a very brave and determined young man, I have a feeling he will not let you push him away."

Sara smiled, just a little, at the memory of him coming up to her and describing his first meeting with Ian Nottingham and that simple phrase "I pick my own friends."

"You're right," Sara said. "He's not going to let go of me."

"It's his choice. Peter chose to carry Christ's cross, and yes he died, but his heavenly reward is great. You should not try to force your friends away, forbid them from carrying your cross Sara. You would deny them their heavenly reward."

"What if," Sara said, hesitantly because she was afraid of the answer. "What if it gets Gabriel killed?"

Gabriel's grandfather suddenly became very sober. At the moment, his grandson was lying in a bed upstairs, having had a brush with death, weak and helpless. It didn't take much imagination to see Gabriel dead, and the fear of loss griped the good reverend. It took an incredible amount of strength for him to say what he did. "Than he ran the good race and fought the good fight."

"How can you just accept that?"

"Because I have faith in God," the Rev. said softly. "And I have faith in the ability of other people to do what they feel they must."

"I need that kind of faith," Sara admitted, she felt on the edge of tears. In hopes of quenching the uncomfortable swelling in her throat, she sipped the tea. It was strong and hot and it helped.

"You can't control everything, don't try. It's like The Beatle's say . . ."

"The Beatle's?" Sara said, a surprised laugh cutting through her tears.

"They stole this idea from Christ, mind you, but: 'It's easy, all you need is love.'"

***

Gabriel didn't really remember anything. As the bright rays of the morning sun crept across his face and broke into his deep, deep sleep, he slowly began to realize that he was in a bed. He didn't remember lying down. In the distance he could hear the clamoring of the church bell. It was a sound he missed in the city, so sweet, so peaceful, so beautiful. Slowly he opened his eyes. The light was too bright, he closed them again and let out a low moan; he had suddenly realized his head hurt. He wanted to slip back into the all encompassing darkness and numbness the harsh sunlight had pulled him out of, but he couldn't. So for an immeasurable amount of time he just listened to the bells, calling the faithful to church on this fine Sunday. This fine Sunday . . . it was Easter. Gabriel suddenly felt something akin to panic, although he was far too exhausted to feel that emotion in full. It was Easter Sunday, the church bells were ringing. His mother would be furious that he was late, and his grandfather would be so disappointed. Despite his exhaustion, the constant, overwhelming ache in his head, and the somewhat inexplicable situation he was in, he decided he had to get up and go to church. With great courage and force of will he pushed himself onto his elbows . . . the room started spinning uncontrollably, his head was about to explode, dark spots formed in front of his eyes and, with a gasp, he collapsed back onto his pillow. He lay there, panting, slightly disturbed by the fact that he couldn't even sit up. He suddenly, desperately, needed to remember what had happened. The harder he thought, the less he knew. He had a vague sense that Phillis had been there, but he didn't know where she was. He also had a very strong sense that Phillis was in danger, that he was in danger, or had been, maybe. It was all a jumble.

And Sara, something about Sara. 

In any event he could not just lie there. He tried, again, to push himself into a sitting position, maybe if he were careful, and gentle, and slow, he would be able to avoid the black spots and waves of dizziness. He took a deep breath and was about to begin when he heard something. He wasn't alone.

"Mom?" he said, his voice weak and raspy.

"They're all at church," a dark, heavy voice said from somewhere out of Gabriel's field of vision. "They left you alone, unprotected, vulnerable."

Gabe licked his lips, he was terrified. He couldn't remember to whom that voice belonged, but he knew he had heard the voice before and he knew he had reason to be afraid.

"Why are you here?" he tried to ask boldly. But when the words came out his voice was still weak and raw.

The voice laughed. "A house of prayer is no place for a warrior. Wolves are not welcome among the sheep."

"You kidding?" Gabriel said nervously. He was stalling, desperately trying to delay whatever horrible thing the voice wanted to do. "My Grandfather would love for a true sinner to come in."

"I never said I was repentant," the voice said as its source stepped into Gabriel's field of vision. 

Gabriel felt like his heart stopped. Ian Nottingham, dressed all in black, holding a pristine white pillow, was standing in front of him.

"What are you gonna do?" Gabriel asked, knowing that he could not escape the black dragon even if he had been in the best of conditions. He kept his eye on the pillow in Nottingham's hand. His mind ran amuck with images of its soft mass pressing down on his face, and thoughts of the burning in his lungs as he gasped for air without avail. He wasn't sure if visualizing the situation would make it harder or easier when it actually happened, he hoped easier. 

"Are you afraid to die, Gabriel?"

Something about that man saying his name made Gabe's spine shiver. "Kinda."

The weakness of this response took Ian off guard. It was not the bold answer of the foolishly brave nor was it the plea of the pitiful coward. It was an honest answer that had layers: neither black nor white. Ian had never been very good at dealing with shades of gray. He changed the subject. "I thought we agreed you would not speak to Sara Pezzini."

"I thought we agreed you would buy that head," Gabriel said, transferring some of his annoyance at the fact he was lying, helpless, with a trained killer standing over him with a pillow, to annoyances almost forgotten.

"You were well payed," Ian said, conversation with this boy was proving difficult, perhaps it was because he was suffering from a severe concussion.

"But you didn't take the head," Gabriel insisted. "I don't think it's technically counts as a business deal."

Ian just looked at the boy, uncertain of how to act. Gabriel stared right back at him, imagining over and over again the clean, white, soft pillow crushing the life out of him.

"The head does not matter, what matters is Sara Pezzini."

"Something we agree on."

"You should have stayed away from her," Ian warned. "If not for you she would not have wandered."

"Wandered?"

"Away from my master."

"Irons?"

"You are keeping her from her destiny."

"She tell you that?"

"The solution is simple, you must be removed so her path will be clear." 

"Removed," Gabriel said, never taking his eyes off the pillow. At this point he did not find himself praying for difficult, he was praying for Sara.

"Because you have refused to remove yourself, I will have to remove you."

"Wait," Gabe said. Regularly he would have laughed at the sheer lunacy of someone saying that he had to be 'removed' - it was straight out of a cheesy film noir. But his head hurt too much and the prospect of the pillow filled his mind. "You can't just kill me."

"Unfortunately you are correct," Ian said the disdain in his voice was not hid. "Dear Sara has promised me that my death will immediately follow yours. Were I to kill you she would not hesitate to come and slay me in like manner, and after me, my master."

The visions of suffocation faded away. "Well, if you aren't gonna kill me, what are you going to do?"

"Do you remember the doctor, Gabriel?"

Remember? Gabe couldn't remember anything. He stayed silent.

"Perhaps you would be interested in your diagnosis."

Yes, he would, but he didn't want to acknowledge he needed something, he kept silent.

"You have a concussion, very serious. If Miss Pezzini had not come you most certainly would have died."

Again, Gabe said nothing. He wished he could remember, but if that was not possible (because of his concussion or some other reason) then he wished Nottingham would have been a little clearer.

"There was a fear you might slip into a coma," Ian said. "The doctor warned that, if you were to fall and hit your head again, you probably would."

"A coma," Gabriel said softly. If his family were to find him, somewhere, on the ground, unconscious, perhaps never to wake up, everyone would assume that he had just woken while they were gone, gotten out of bed and accidently fallen and hit his head. After all, that's what he would have done if Ian had not been there. "That's a, ah," he licked his lips. "Pretty good plan."

"Now you're afraid."

"Yeah," Gabriel said hoarsely. "Now I am."

  
  


To Be Continued . . .


	9. Tutelary

Hey friendly readers, you guys were great with the reviews. We're sorry to have held you emotionally hostage, but the fact of the matter was the chapter wasn't ready to be posted until tonight. I'm sorry for the delay, I hope it was worth it.

Chapter 9: Tutelary

The stairs seemed impossibly high. Gabe remembered playing on them as a child. There were only 24 of them, he was sure. They had counted. He himself had jumped down eight of them once. Of course he had never quite gained the courage to jump from the ninth step. Falling head first down all 24 froze his blood. 

It didn't help that the floor beneath him seemed to be rolling like a sea in a tempest. He knew that if Nottingham were not holding him roughly by the arms he would have tumbled forward. And that could be, very possibly, the last thing he would do for the rest of his life.

"I just don't get it," Gabriel said. His mind was racing to find a way out of this situation and every thought that came into his mind came out of his mouth. "Who is Sara, I mean, really?"

"She is the one," Ian said, his voice filled with something like awe. "The wielder of a Witchblade."

"Yeah, she has a pretty bracelet. I have bracelets too. No one's ever been killed because their friend's bracelet."

"I'm not going to kill you."

"Yeah, either way I'm _removed_."

"Accepting the inevitable is the only way to true freedom."

"Freedom," Gabriel laughed. "What do you know about freedom? You don't even have the freedom to do what you want."

"My freedoms are not in question."

"Do you want to kill me?"

"I'm not killing you."

"Remove me then, do you really want to?"

Ian didn't answer, but Gabriel could feel the grip on his arm tighten. 

"Can you imagine it?" Gabe pressed. "'Cause I can."

"You won't be dead."

"Yeah, and I won't be there to care about her."

"I care enough for her . . ."

"Yeah, and when was the last time she called you out for pizza?" Gabriel demanded. "I don't know who you are, really, Ian Nottingham, but I know you're not her friend. 'Cause friends, they don't do this to each other," his voice cracked, the fear was coming through. "If you really cared about her you'd try to protect her from this kind of pain. She's lost her partner, her boyfriend, and her father. Why would you remove someone else she cares about?"

There was a heavy silence. Gabe hoped that if Ian was going to throw him down those 24 steps he would go ahead and do it. A darkness was creeping in on the edges of his vision and the subtle ringing in his ears was turning into a cacophony. 

"Don't you think," Gabriel said, desperately trying to keep himself awake as well as keep Ian distracted, even if what he said didn't really make sense. "If you really do care, don't you think maybe you should start giv'n people back to her instead of taking them away?"

There was a long pause and then, without warning, the iron grip that had been keeping Gabriel from tumbling forward was released. He was left on his own to find balance and he could feel himself pitching towards the stairway. Instinctively, he tried to shift his weight backwards, but without his sense of equilibrium he over compensated and ended up stumbling into the wall directly behind him with enough force to leave him breathless. His knees collapsed underneath him and he crumpled onto the ground, gasping for breath. For a while there was enough adrenalin in his blood to keep him conscious. He craned his neck to try to see what had become of Nottingham, but even slight movements of his head caused an overwhelming pounding. Slowly, his breathing began to stabilize and his body began to insist to his brain that they needed to rest. Gabriel wanted to fight the darkness that was creeping over him, but he didn't have the strength, eventually he tumbled into that black billowing sea. 

*** 

"Sara!" Phillis said, running up to the older woman after church. They both looked like hell, with unwashed hair, the same blood stained clothes they had had on yesterday, and heavy bags drooping down under their eyes. 

"Yeah?" Sara asked, yawning. 

"I don't know what to say to you." 

Sara blinked, "Excuse me?" 

"All through church, when he was talking about saviors I was thinking about you." 

Sara didn't know what to say, she certainly hadn't been thinking about herself when the Rev. Dunn was talking about saviors. She had been thinking about Gabriel. He was the one who had really risked his life, nearly given it, so that his friend could be free. 

Phillis didn't notice Sara's malaise at her confession, she just kept talking. "You saved Gabriel, Jim was . . ." she hesitated, not quite able to say the words. 

"I'm a cop, it's my job," Sara said, showing the young lady some grace. 

"And me. Eventually it would have been me too." 

"You don't have to thank me." 

"But the thing is, I'm still mad at you." 

"Mad?" 

"You killed Jim," she had cried her self dry a long time ago, but the trembling in her voice communicated quite clearly how upset she was. 

"I did it to save you," Sara said, bewildered by the girls actions. "To save Gabriel." 

"I know, I know," Phillis said. "But, I'm just so overwhelmed. I don't know whether to be happy or sad. I wanted away from him, but I never wanted him to die." She took a shaky breath. "I couldn't explain this to my father, he just wouldn't understand. And I know we just met but I need someone to talk to . . ." 

"Go ahead," Sara said softly. 

"Can you love someone, and be terrified of them at the same time?" 

Sara licked her lips, "Probably." 

"He was horrible, so often he was. But, sometimes he wasn't. And I could never really hate him, you know." She started sniffling, she had found her well of tears again. "I shouldn't have kissed Gabriel. That was the stupidest thing . . . Jim had every right to wanna kill me." 

"No!" Sara said forcefully. "He didn't."  
"I betrayed him." 

"He betrayed you every time he hit you."  
"Gabriel knew it was wrong, I should have too." 

"Phil," Sara said, grabbing the girl's chin and forcing her to make eye contact. "You're not listening to me. You didn't do anything wrong." 

"I was living with Jim and I kissed another guy," Phil said. "Of course I did something wrong." 

Sara had to admit that, under static rules of morality, Phil had done something wrong. But Sara's morality was not static, and the young girl had come to her for help. "Phillis, you loved Jim. I get that. I mean, it would be really hard not to. He was strong and handsome. He said he loved you, he claimed he would protect you. I mean, that is what you want, isn't it Phillis, to be protected?" 

"I don't know," Phil said softly. 

"And I think that somewhere, deep down, Jim did love you back. He needed you, or at least he thought he did." 

"I betrayed him." 

"No, you made him realize that you were your own person. That you could transcend him, and that's why he tried to kill Gabriel and threatened to kill you. He couldn't stand the thought that you were someone without him." 

"It's all my fault." 

"It's all his fault, Phillis," Sara said. "You're responsible for what you do, he's responsible for what he did. You kissed Gabriel, that might not have been right, morally speaking. He attacked you and would have killed Gabriel. That's morally wrong on any scale." 

Phillis closed her eyes and nodded, when she opened them again, they were filled with one question. "But I still love him." 

"That's alright," Sara said, smiling sadly. "You remember what the preacher said: Loving someone who hurts you is a true sign of Godliness." 

Phillis closed her eyes again. "I just want it all to stop, you know. All these feelings, I just wish they would stop. I wish I could chose one, I wish I could either grieve for Jim or be happy with Gabriel or be mad at you." 

"Life doesn't work that way." 

"Life doesn't work." 

"It works, just not the way we want it too." 

Phillis nodded and was silent for a moment, before saying: "You know, all that time when I lived with him, when I was really afraid I wasn't afraid of getting beaten." 

"If you were afraid of that you would have left long ago." 

Phillis nodded, "I was afraid I'd lose him. And now I have." 

"The worst has happened," Sara said. "So now what?"

"Jim was my everything. There was no backup plan." 

"What about Gabriel?" 

"I don't know." 

"He'd love to protect you." 

"He almost died trying." 

"You gonna give him another shot at it?" 

"I don't know." 

"Or maybe," Sara said hopefully. "It's time you learned how to protect yourself." 

"That's easy to say, hard to do." 

"Not so hard." 

"I have no place to go." 

"You could stay here." 

"And apprentice with my father?" Phillis almost laughed,"I don't think so." 

"Go back to Poughkeepsie?" 

She shuddered, "No, definitely not." 

"How about New York?" 

"City?" 

"Yeah." 

"Where would I live, what would I do?" 

"I actually have some ideas on that. Do you speak Spanish?" 

"Yeah." 

"Fluently." 

"Of course, that's all my father speaks at home. I mean, when company's not over." 

"Than I have a job for you."

"I couldn't be a cop," Phil said quickly.

"But I bet you could be an interpreter."

"Interpreter?"

"During questioning, at trials: without translators the whole system stops for people who don't speak English," Sara explained. 

"And you think I could do that?"

"If you want to."

"I'll think about it," Phillis said softly. From the expression on her face, Sara was sure the girl really would. But making any decision in the state she was presently in might not be the best idea. 

"Let me know."

"There is," the girl said hesitantly. "One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Last night, what happened?"

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, her voice thin and nervous. She didn't have an explanation for so much, at least not a good and believable one that protected Ian.

"There was a man, I remember him."

"You lied to the sheriff?" Sara said, her voice hushed. She had lied to the sheriff too, but for some reason, she had expected more of Phillis. 

"No," Phillis said quickly, her voice was also hushed. "I just left some stuff out."

"What did you tell him?"

"I heard a shot and when I looked up Jim was dead. You were taking care of Gabriel, there was your gun. I honestly didn't see what happened," Phillis looked up. "That's what I told him."

"But you did see the man?"

"Who is he?"

Sara wanted to answer, but she had no idea. "A dragon," she finally answered. "In a world full of people who don't believe in them."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know," Sara said. "But it's the only answer I'm sure of."

***

"Gabriel!" Sara screamed, bounding up the stairs. She was vaguely aware that his entire family was following her, but her entire focus was on Gabriel. She was up the stairs twice as fast as any of the others, lifting him to a sitting position, petting his face, and begging him to open his eyes. "Gabriel, Gabriel, Wake up, open your eyes! Please, Gabriel, please . . ."

As if in response to her begging, Gabriel groaned and his eyes fluttered open.

Sara smile was the first thing he saw, and his injured mind suddenly filled with the most amazing thoughts. "I get it," he whispered.

"What?" Sara asked. She was the only one who could hear him, he was speaking so softly.

"I know you," he said, just as quietly. "Joan, Elizabeth, Kathain, Martha. I know exactly who you are."

"Gabriel," Sara said, not able to keep the nervousness out of her voice. She didn't know what had possessed him to call her by those names, but it was slightly unnerving. "What did you call me?"

He looked at her with unfocussed eyes, blinked, and then seemed to come to himself. "Sara," he said a little louder. His eyes broke away from her face and he realized that she was not the only one standing over him, concerned. "Mom, Chase, Gramps, wha's going on?"

"Gabriel," his mother said, switching places with Sara so that it was mostly her loving face he saw. "How did you get out here? What happened?"

His foggy brown eyes seemed to grow even more unfocussed as he reached inside himself to remember. The memory was elusive and the harder he tried to track it down, the more it evaded him, the only thing he could remember was a sickening sense of terror. "I don't know," he said hoarsely.

"Come on Sweetheart," his mother said, reaching to pull him to his feet. His grandfather quickly moved to help her and between them they were soon leading him to the bedroom. "You need to rest."

Gabriel didn't fight as he was lead away, he wouldn't have had the strength to even if he wanted. The rest of the family dissolved, finding something to do. Gabriel's mother stayed sitting with him, Chase and Joy went downstairs where they started preparing the day's dinner. Mr. Bowman went to pick up Gracie, Ralph, Shauna, and Timmy, who had gone home to change out of church clothes and The Rev. Dunn had run over to Dr. Sanderson's house to beg for one more house call. Sara had a mission of her own. 

She slipped out of the house and started walking down the small town street, watching the children play in the front yards under the watchful eyes of caring parents. It reminded her of her childhood, before her mother died, and evoked some of the happiest memories she had. But she didn't stay and watch the families, she had something she had to do. Once she reached the abandoned school yard and had found a spot that was well hidden she took a deep breath and braced herself for what she knew she had to do.

"Nottingham," she called out forcefully. "I know you're here, come out."

"You wish to speak to me, Lady Sara," Ian said from behind her. Sara pivoted, extremely startled by his sudden appearance, but decided not to yell at him. After all she had called.

"Yeah," she said tersely. "What did you do to Gabriel?"

"He is alive."

"Yeah, I know he's alive."

"I did nothing."

"Really?" Sara snapped. "And why do I find that hard to believe."

"Sara, do you know how easy it would have been for me to kill him as he laid helpless in that bed? He would never have even noticed."

"I would have noticed."

"And that's why I didn't," Ian said eagerly, as if he were offering her some great gift, like a string of pearls or a diamond ring. "I didn't want to cause you any more suffering."

"What about Irons?"

Ian seemed a bit uncomfortable. "I will tell him what you told me," he eventually said. "That you swore Gabriel's death would be immediately followed by my own, and then his."

"So," she said uncertainly, "You won't be coming after him, then?"

"No," he said, after a considered pause. "Your friend is safe from me, although I cannot say he will be safe from others."

"I'm not asking you to," she said harshly, and then, a little kinder, "Thank you."

Ian looked at her for a moment, his large brown eyes dark and deep, and then, with an almost military bow, he turned and walked briskly away. Sara watched his long dark coat disappear into the forest at the very edge of the school yard and then, with a deep breath, she turned and walked back to the Dunn house where the Bowman's and all their small town kindness were waiting for her with open arms.

THE END

(there will be an epilog . . . eventually)


	10. Epilog

Thanks to all of those who waited for this. Obviously, I would have had it up sooner but . . .

Anyways, I've gotten some very intriguing critiques from some very important people so this story is going to be revised (eventually) and republished later with some scene changes and stuff. Keep a heads up. Also, I've got a new Witchblade story that I'll try and churn out real quick.-- so pleas keep an eye out.

Thanks to everyone who's given me a critique! You guys rock.

  
  


Chapter 10: Epilog

_thank you my angel  
for blessing me  
with these words and for giving me  
what i was hungry for  
taste of dirt  
from the floor of heaven_

_thank you my angel  
for cutting off my hands  
forbidding me  
to trace the lines of this miracle  
across the great divide  
for making love a foreign language_

_thank you my angel  
for fluttering  
out my window for telling me  
all those lies about myself  
it was your way of bandaging the bleeding_

_thank you my angel  
for the clutter of my life  
for dragging me  
to the edge of the wilderness  
to lie here by myself  
just outside the land of promise_

Phillis put down the guitar and bit her lips, nervously. She hoped beyond hope that he liked the song. It was all she could think to give him, and she felt like she owed him so much.

Beyond her life and a new sense of hope and self worth, he'd given her the beautiful guitar. As she was tuning it he'd dropped a few hints that this particular guitar might just be enchanted. The story was that the guitar had been given to Blues Legend Derelle Doggwood Cots, who claimed the devil would sing melodies in his ear. Cots was killed by an equally insane preacher, Mervin Buntloss, who was apposed not only to Cot's music, but also the color of his skin. The legend was that Buntloss tried to burn the guitar, but it wouldn't burn, he tried to smash the guitar, but it wouldn't break, so in the end he filled it with rocks and threw it in the river. It wouldn't sink. It floated down stream and, as far as Gabriel could tell, was found 50 years later in a second hand music store by one of Cot's great nephews who claimed that the distinctive grain on the wood gave the instrument away.

"This can't be a bedeviled guitar," Phillis had said as she tuned it. He hadn't told her it was hers yet, still the sheer excitement of holding a guitar again made her almost giddy. 

"I don't know, that's just the story."

"So how much you get it for?"

"I don't remember," Gabe shrugged. He was a good businessman and he did remember, $4,000, and it was a steal at that. "It was years ago."

"And how much you gonna sell it for?"

"Nothing."

"What?" Phillis asked, she wasn't really paying attention to their conversation, she was too busy tuning the guitar.

"It's a gift."

That got her attention, she looked up, her deep brown eyes wide with disbelief, "What?"

"You need one, he broke yours."

"No," she said, quickly, but carefully, putting the guitar down. "I can't accept this."

"You afraid the devil will start whispering in your ear?" Gabe asked coyly.

She hesitated, "I guess I feel like I owe you to much already."

Gabriel's smile slipped. He didn't want her to feel like she owed him anything. "I didn't mean for it to come off like that."

"And it didn't," she insisted. "I mean, I feel like that, but it's not your fault." 

They had been sitting across from each other in his small attic room, her with the open window to her back, letting in a fresh breeze that filled the room with the sent of budding lilacs and forced Phillis to pull her hair back in an unbound braid. She got on her knees and crawled to where Gabe was sitting, leaning against the drawers of his desk. It had been three days since he was attacked but his eyes hadn't quite found their focus yet and his head hurt every time he moved it. It was tempered agony to turn his head and watch her as she slipped next to him. But the soft, warm pressure of her arm against his made it all worth it.

"So what's next?" Gabe asked, just a little nervously. 

"I don't know," she answered softly.

"You're moving to New York?"

"I guess," Phil sighed. 

"The interview went well?" 

"Over the phone it's hard to know. But if the courthouse is as hard up for translators as Sara says . . ."

"They'd be crazy not to take you."

She turned to him and smiled, as if to say Thank you. Her smile melted as she turned away from him and they sat quietly contemplating.

"Where you staying?" Gabe asked after a while.

"Chase said I could stay with her until I could get a place of my own."

Gabriel nodded, "Or you could stay with me?" he suggested half-hopefully.

"I don't think that'd be a good idea," Phillis replied meekly.

"Probably not," Gabe admitted.

"What about us?" Phillis finally asked, looking at her hands.

"I don't know."

"Should there even be an us?"

"I don't think so," he said, each word ripping into his heart. 

"I didn't think so either," she said sadly.

"I, ah, I'm still hopeful."

Phillis to a deep breath, "I'm just sick of boys."

"I understand that."

"And I'm messed up."

"That might be a little harsh," Gabe said. For some reason, it hurt him acutely when she pointed out her faults, especially in such a crude way.

Phillis laughed. "Come on, Gabriel. I lived with a guy who would bust my head every time the Giants lost, and I didn't leave. That's messed up."

Gabe nodded, that was messed up. "What I want to know," he asked, fully aware that the last time he had hedged around this subject they had not spoken for three years, "is why you kept going back."

"Well you get to a point where it's, you know, leave and die," she said almost flippantly. Gabe was amazed by the way she could approach the tragedy of her life as if it were normal.

"I don't mean just with Jim, he was insane, I get that."

"You got more of it than you should have."

"What I mean is, guy after guy, the same type. Why didn't you . . ." he couldn't think of a nice way to say it, so he tried to make his voice sound as kind as possible, "wise up?"

Phillis's flippancy dissolved, but she was not angry, "You asking why not you?"

"No," Gabriel insisted, "I'm asking why you kept going for guys who you knew would hurt you but, ah, . . ." he took a deep breath, "why not me is kinda implicit in the question."

"I," her voice faltered slightly. "I didn't think you could protect me."

"Phil," Gabe said, dumbfounded. "If you were with me you wouldn't need to be protected."

"You don't get it," she insisted. "Jim didn't protect me from himself, he protected me from everybody else."

"You're right, I don't get it."

Phillis glanced at him, and then glanced away. "When Jim was with me I didn't need to worry about anyone else. He was a local hero, nobody messed with him."

"So nobody messed with you?" Gabriel said sadly. 

"Yeah."

"Nobody but Jim."

"Gee Gabriel, tell me what you really think."

"I just don't get it."

There was a long pause.

"Did I ever tell you what happened when my mother left?"

"You said your father was so ashamed he had to move."

"Her leaving isn't why he was ashamed," Phillis said softly. "They thought he killed her."

Gabriel was shocked, he was more than shocked. He had known Jaime for over ten years, in some ways he had been more a father to the young man than his own. His heat stop, as did his breathing, eventually he was able to take a ragged breath and say, "What?"

"She would always just leave," Phillis said, not bothering to mask the anger in her voice. She would never, well almost never, talk about her mother. "Ever since I could remember she'd go out on a Thursday night and come back on a Monday morning and not say where she'd been. She always reeked of alcohol and, other stuff. And my dad would lie about it, he thought he was his fault that she was such a whore."

"Phillis,"

"Well she was!" the young girl said defensively. "Anyway, when she left, for real, he lied about that too, as long as he could. But after a week people started noticing. And after two weeks the police got involved. Of course, his defense was that she always just left but nobody knew she was that kind of person because he would always lie about it. The police did a crappy job of looking, thank God for his defense attorney who gave a damn and found her."

"So he was found innocent?"

"It didn't get to trial, the charges were dropped, but the damage was done. He couldn't find work. And, ah, Luis and I had already been shuffled through foster homes and halfway houses or whatever."

"I'm sorry," he said because he didn't have any idea what else he could say.

"All through my childhood, my dad couldn't protect me," Phil said. "That's the moral of the story. He couldn't protect himself."

"So you're looking for someone who can? Someone strong, someone popular?"

"Yeah."

"Phil, you're still a little girl. You gotta grow up."

She took a deep breath, "I know, I know. And, ah, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"You've waited, and waited, and earned me, and now that I'm free . . ."

"Wait, no," Gabriel interrupted. "I didn't earn you. You're not a prize or a reward. I don't want you to come to me because you feel obligated or . . . or because I finally proved I was strong enough to protect you. If you're not choosing me because of me I'd, well, I'd rather you chose someone else."

She looked at him, bewildered, for a moment. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "That's not what I meant." She looked at the guitar in the middle of the floor. "I have something for you."

"I don't want anything," Gabe said, shaking his head and instantly regretting it.

"Tough, you'll have to deal." she said, crawling away from him and picking up the guitar. "Because this is for you, and nobody else."

She cleared her through and sang, clearly, "_Thank you my Angel_ . . ."

  
  


"No Sir," Sara Pezzini said into the Bowman's telephone. She was in the kitchen and Joy, Shauna, and Mrs. Bowman were all standing around her, chopping up vegetables for the stew that would compose the night's dinner. 

"I know sir, but surely Jake could do some of it. . . . No I don't think that's necessary. . . . Well, I certainly do understand. . . . Yes sir . . .Thursday . . . yes sir . . . I will sir. . . . No, I'm not surprised. . . . Yes sir." Sara hung up the phone angrily. She wanted, very badly, to say 'and you can go to hell, sir,' but she curbed that impulse. She had just been yelled at by her commanding officer, she didn't want to add her best friend's mother to the list. 

"Who was that?" Joy asked with coyish curiosity.

Sara sighed, "My boss, reminding me that a weekend usually means three days or less."

"You don't have to stay here, dear," Mrs. Bowman said. "If you need to go back to the city . . ."

"No, no," Sara said. "I want to keep my eye on Gabriel, make sure he's ok."

"He does have a family," Shauna said. "Isn't that what we're for?"

"Shauna, I think I'll need more corn starch for the broth, would you mind going and picking some up," Mrs. Bowman clipped before Sara could answer.

"Sure," Shauna said, only vaguely aware that this errand was a punishment.

"Take Joy with you," Mrs. Bowman added. "She can practice her driving."

"Alright!" Joy screeched, dropping her knife and running to the door. Shauna followed, a little less enthusiastically. 

"Remember . . ."

"Corn starch, I know," Shauna said. "I'm not stupid."

The door banged shut as the two girls went off to the small town's supermarket, leaving Sara and Mrs. Bowman alone in the kitchen. "Would you mind chopping up that celery?" Mrs. Bowman asked. "And I want to talk to you."

Sara wasn't sure what celery had to do with a frank discussion, but she took up the knife Joy had abandoned, started chopping and asked "What about?"

"I just want you to know how much it means to me that you and Gabriel are so close."

"Oh," Sara said, unsure, exactly, what she was saying.

"He got lost, in this family." Mrs. Bowman said with surprising frankness. "Like Peter in the Brady Bunch."

"The TV show?"

"He always got lost in the family, there was nothing particularly special about him."

"There's a lot special about Gabriel."

"I know," Mrs. Bowman said, her voice was trembling, she was almost crying. "I know. Of all my children I'm the most proud of him, well, him and Chastity. But she, she got a lot more from us than he did. Gabriel got lost in our family. Tony was always such an athlete, he didn't know what to do with his children who weren't the same way. He gets along great with Mike and Ralph and Joy, but he just sort of assumed. I would be able to manage the other kids. Chastity was good, she was so easy to bring up. But then Gracie, I didn't know what to do, and I spent all my energy on her so that Gabriel had to raise himself."

Sara got the sense that Mrs. Bowman was apologizing, Sara wasn't sure if she should, or could, grant absolution for whatever sins of omission she might have committed. "For what it's worth," she said, "He's the best person I know." Mrs. Bowman stopped her busy chopping and looked at Sara. Sara, on the other hand, continued her busy chopping and didn't look at Mrs. Bowman. "He's honest, the only honest person I know. And he's kind, and generous and, ah," She took a deep breath and looked up. "I don't think I could've gotten through this past year without him."

Mrs. Bowman was smiling, almost teary-eyed. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

"I think it's about time you told him what you told me."

She smiled and laughed softly, "You think he'd want to know? It seems sort of silly to me. Too little, too late."

"It's not too late until they're dead," Sara said with far too much bluntness. "Right now he's alive, and, here, I'd like to add. And probably in dire need of some mothering."

Mrs. Bowman smiled. "I almost wish you two were more than you are," she said. "I would love to count you among my daughters-in-law."

Mrs. Bowman stepped forward and embraced Sara in a hug, a warm, caring, mother's hug. Sara accepted the affection gratefully. When she pulled away from the hug she saw Danny over Mrs. Bowman's shoulder. He was smiling at her. "I told you you needed this."

Her only answer was a smile.

* * *

Ian Nottingham was as close as he had ever been to pure evil. As he crept, silently, through his masters office during the darkest part of the night he could barely believe what he was doing. It felt surreal, like a dream. He had no fears of being caught, not because of his superior skills, but because no one would ever suspect him of this heinous crime, in all likelihood, no one would ever notice it. Betrayal was a sickening, sickening sin. The greatest sin, practiced by the worlds greatest villains: Judas and Brutes, both in the lowest circle of hell, being consumed by Lucifer himself. And Ian was joining their ranks. 

But, for some reason, he could not conceive doing otherwise. As he opened the safe that held the legacy of James Pezzini, Nottingham could hear the young man's words echoing in his ears. _Don't you think maybe you should start giv'n people back to her instead of taking them away?_ He was going to give Sara back the truth about her father, even if it killed them all, he loved her, he owed her that much. He slipped the tape into the pocket of his long dark trench coat, turned, and walked out of the room, a traitor in a world without a virtuous man to betray.

  
  


The (very) end


End file.
